


Sweet Little Words

by emotionalmorphine



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Betrayal, Blood and Gore, Canon Dialogue, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Minor Female Hawke/Cullen Rutherford, Minor Female Hawke/Isabela - Freeform, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Sex Magic, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 100,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine/pseuds/emotionalmorphine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders has a choice when he accidentally stumbles across the words Danarius used to make Fenris orgasm on command; either use the elf or help win his freedom.</p><p>Fenris never expected the mage to assist him. He never expected that they would have anything in common. And he certainly didn't expect to fall in love.</p><p>With Kirkwall on the brink of ruin and Danarius prowling in the shadows, Anders must free Fenris before everything comes tumbling down around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the [Kink Meme Prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9086.html?thread=37873534&):
> 
> _Danarius trained Fenris to come on a keyword. One of Fenris' companions accidentally stumbles on that keyword._  
>   
>  _Preferences would be Hawke, Isabela, and Anders, but I'll take any of them! I'd particularly like it if Fenris isn't established in a relationship with the companion who triggers it, though an established relationship with a different LI would be fine. I'd also be interested to see the discoverer taking advantage of it, for whatever reasons - because it's hot, because it gets Fenris to shut up, because it's fun to "put Fenris in his place," whatever._  
>   
>  _Up to anon if Fenris and the keyword-finder end up in a relationship, if someone abusing the keyword maliciously gets punished for it, whatnot._

The air was stale. Old. The bowels of Kirkwall that Hawke had opened and bared for the first time in an age.

"Maker! What died down here?" Anders asked.

Fenris bit back the annoyed huff but did not hide the glare he shot at the idiotic mage. The glare that was doubly returned.

Hawke stepped between them but was entirely uninterested in any underhanded bickering. "All right, we know the drill; be on the lookout for giant spiders, rampaging dragons, demons and, everyone's favorite, blood mages." Hawke pointed one dagger to the left. "Isabela and I take that way. Anders, you and Broody take the other hall."

Fenris ground his teeth. He really wished that nickname had not caught on.

"Why do I have to go with the cranky elf?" Anders complained. "He will probably kill me and try to blame it on the sodding blood mages!"

"It's a little hard to blame missing vital organs on anyone other than Fenris," Isabela said. "Unless he has been giving lessons; if he has I sure hope someone else decides to use the gift in more interesting ways. You could make a lot of money with a talent like that."

"I doubt any whore would wish for pure lyrium to be seared into their flesh," Fenris said and scowled at her.

"Oh yes, I forgot all about the blinding horror and pain... Bother."

"Come on," Hawke said. "We've got treas\-- Uhhh, I mean, we've got blood mages to catch." She grinned and punched Isabela in the shoulder before darting away. Isabela smiled and followed and Fenris had the sneaking suspicion that if they did find any demons, they would barely be a distraction to some more intimate pleasures the two women would indulge in together.

Anders sighed. "Stuck with Fenris... Great..." 

"Let us finish this quickly so that I do not have to stand your presence for longer than necessary," Fenris said. He purposely knocked the mage in the arm as he passed by him. There was no real reason other than to see the annoyed pout the abomination gave in response.

Begrudgingly, Fenris had to appreciate that the mage did still follow him down into the darkened hall. The Lowtown abode had been abandoned since the collapse of the floor into the tunnels below and the disappearance of the original tenants. That alone may have not been that strange an occurrence for Kirkwall, but some rather gruesome tales of screaming corpses savaging a street harlot and scattered remains of humans and animals alike left at the entranceway was enough to catch Hawke's attention. Whether it be blood mages or demonic presence, Fenris did not relish the thought of traversing the passages alone. The mage did have uses.

Though so did Hawke's Mabari hound.

Fenris felt the ethereal tug of the air around him and a ball of light surrounded the mage's staff. The briefest of light flickered through his lyrium brands in answer and Fenris hissed a breath through his teeth. 

The passageways were mostly empty, carved out of solid stone below the streets of Kirkwall. Some paths branched away but Anders led them forward, down, until the air turned damp and cold and phosphorescent lichen glowed on the dank walls.

"I do not like that we have ventured this far from Hawke."

"Trust me, Hawke is fine. If anything, I would be a little more concerned for myself right about now." Anders stopped. He raised his staff and the light shone down the hall. "This place has a foul aura."

"I feel nothing."

"No... You wouldn't."

Fenris knew that Anders could not see his expression in the dim light, but it did nothing to prevent his scowl. He knew this was a _magic_ thing. It always was.

"We should return to Hawke."

"So she can hold your hand? Scared of the dark, Fenris?" the mage cooed and Fenris bit his tongue to hold back the snap. He had promised Hawke that they would not make life 'unbearable' for her or force her to choose which of her two favorite men she would bring on her adventures. He had promised and Fenris intended to keep his promise to Hawke.

The mage seemed to have no such issue. Anders laughed and continued his prattle and then plunged the hall into darkness, only the barest glow outlining his shape and the walls the lichen clung to stubbornly.

"Do you want to hold _my_ hand?" Anders asked.

"Do not test me, Mage." Fenris heard the mage move, saw his faint outline up ahead and Fenris adamantly refused to light his brands. He listened to the crunch of the mage's boots on the stone floor and followed. And to his credit Anders did not reform his magelight, reveling in his joke. Fenris had to wonder whether the demon possessing the mage ensured his safety even in situations such as these - would it be possible for a creature or demon to sneak up on them without their knowledge?

"...huh."

Fenris almost slammed right into Anders' back when the mage came to a halt in front of a large door.

"Not half ominous, is it?" Anders asked. "Though for once we might get the good loot before Hawke and Isabela get their greedy hands on it!"

"I have no interest in such things."

"You just come and put your life in danger because Hawke asks, then. Maker knows you don't spend any of your share on your home. Have you given names to the skeletons, yet? Bonesy? Captain Cartilage?"

"I called one Anders and disposed of it in the sewers, where it belongs."

"Oh-ho! Did the broody elf just make a joke? Say my name again. A little lower, maybe against my ear. You do have the most wonderfully sinful voice for being such a horrible pain."

Fenris chose to ignore that. As he chose to ignore most of what spouted from the abomination's mouth. "Is the door trapped?"

"What do I look like? A rogue? This here is called a staff. I believe you are familiar with my horrible apostate mage ways. You complain about it enough."

"Not nearly as often as yourself." Fenris flared luminescent and light flooded the hall. The door stood tall before them, made of dark wood with large brass handles. The wood was plain; no runes, no markings, just heavy wood.

"I can't feel any wards." Anders held his staff forward and Fenris braced himself. The magic swirled to life and whispered through the wood of the door, curled around the brass fittings and then dissipated.

"Perhaps whatever spells were designed to protect this place have crumbled...along with what remains of the building."

"Well there's nothing I can find. Bar pointy arrows and sharp spikes, we should be fine." Anders pushed the door and then frowned when it didn't budge.

"Get out of the way, Mage." Fenris shoved him aside and pushed the doors open. There were no pointy arrows, nor were there any sharp spikes, just an old dusty room full of junk. But they still watched their step entering, looking for trip wires or pressure pads that would set off a nasty surprise - neither of them was foolhardy enough just to barge straight into the room.

"I guess even blood mages need storage..." Anders walked between two shelves and the light brightened around him. It was enough to light up most of the room, at least the parts they could see around them. The high ceiling remained in darkness.

It really was just junk. Hawke would love it. She was always poking through old chests and sacks to find what anyone else would describe as junk. Fenris picked up a small statuette and turned it over in his hands. With enough time and patience and the right connections some of this trash could be worth something, but who would bother?

"Some of these books have been outlawed by the Chantry for longer than Kirkwall has been independent!" Anders yelled from behind the bookcase. 

Fenris huffed but otherwise didn't reply. Of course the abomination would be able to read Tevene. How apt for someone so corrupt. Anders truly would fit in with the Magisters in Tevinter; except he would likely die within the week. 

There was little down here of value, certainly not enough worth staying for. Fenris frowned at one of the statues - Tevinter in origin. He had seen a similar one before, larger, protecting the home of a Magister. It had done the man little good as his manor burnt to the ground. Fenris pushed aside some more junk and it was clear the items here had been brought from Tevinter a very long time ago, most likely while Kirkwall was still run as a slave mine by the Magisters. The further he dug, the stronger the unsettled feeling in his stomach grew - there was the usual rubbish down here but further back he began finding the obvious signs of magic use. Blood magic. A knife, surgical instruments not unlike those he had seen in Danarius' own home, jars and glass bottles, discarded lyrium vials, and then the old but telltale smears of blood that had stained the floor an age ago.

Fenris stepped back and turned abruptly, one hand over his stomach. He did not need this. Not now. This whole room reeked of Magisters, foul magic, slavery and torture. Fenris could taste the blood in his mouth as though it were fresh.

"Fenris?"

Fenris looked up and saw Anders staring at him. The mage's head was cocked to the side, some of his hair falling across his face and Fenris wished that Anders did not look quite so...concerned.

"I am fine," Fenris said. "I came across something...unpleasant. We should leave."

"Not so fast. I came to tell you that I think I found something. Guess you already figured out what this room was used for. The bone pile on my side of the room certainly confirms any suspicions." Anders held up a book. "Some Magister's deluded dream of bringing back the dead. Hawke isn't going to like this one."

Fenris frowned and looked at his feet. No, Hawke would not like to hear this. "We should keep this to ourselves. Hawke is a good woman...she need not be reminded of her Mother's death so quickly."

"Agreed. Frankly, it's a little too soon for me. You're lucky you weren't there, Fenris. With that... That, _thing_. It still haunts my dreams."

For once, they could agree on something. Fenris nodded and looked towards the door. "Hawke will not come after us for some time. We should remove all evidence of this crime."

"Generic blood mage sacrificial chamber coming right up. I would torch the whole room but it would be a tad obvious. Plus it would be a shame to lose some of these books. I could use several for my clinic."

"You wish to practice blood magic after all. I am not surprised."

Anders frowned. "No. You and I do share the same opinion about one thing and that's blood magic. These are anatomy books, Fenris, you ass. I can help my patients without even using magic."

Fenris paused. Oh. He looked at Anders. The mage was glaring at him and he dared to look...what, hurt? Fenris didn't recognize the emotion in Anders' eyes. Fenris cleared his throat. "I misunderstood."

"Yes, you did." Anders spun on his heel and walked back to the shelves.

They worked in silence for the most part. Fenris could feel the pull of magic as Anders burnt some of the books and notes and the glow of the small fire warmed the room. Hawke would not question a small fire; she would assume they had run into trouble and nothing more. Fenris did not feel bad for lying to her. Knowing would do her no service. There was no knowledge to be lost by burning this information to ashes.

"Hey, Fenris. Have you ever heard of a story about Fen'Harel and a virgin?"

Fenris didn't look up. "You waste time, Mage."

"No, no. It's in one of the books. At the start here."

"You are meant to be burning them, not reading them."

"I am not going to pointlessly burn every book without knowing what’s inside. Haven't you ever heard of the saying 'don't judge a book by its cover'?"

Fenris looked over his shoulder and sighed. "No, I have not heard of the tale."

"Guess you don't know many Dalish stories. Seems strange that a book by a Tevinter blood mage would have an elvhen fairy tale at the start. But I'm guessing it might have been a bit of inspiration for our dear, dear psychopath. The story goes that an elven girl was promised to her betrothed. He went to hunt and never returned. Fen'Harel had watched the girl and longed for her but she had only eyes for her love. So he took the form of her missing love and raped and killed her in a fit of jealousy."

"I do not see how this is of any relevance."

"Wait, would you? Maker! The elven man returned to find his love dead. Fen'Harel was so jealous that the girl had loved the man even in her last moments that he devised to ruin the man. Fen'Harel came to him and told him that he could bring his love back to the living world if he completed three tasks."

Fenris paused. He did know this tale. It had been told to him long ago. By whom...? He couldn't remember when, or where, but he remembered the tasks. "He was to bring Fen'Harel the hearts of an innocent babe, a maiden untouched by another and a man blinded by love."

"So you have heard it!"

"Yes...but I do not remember where." Fenris turned and leant back against the table. He folded his arms but unfolded them just as soon. His nose tickled from the dust and his skin felt itchy. He was sweating in the warm room, his clothes sticking to his dirty skin. Fenris could feel the trickle of sweat run down the back of his neck and below his collar.

"So the man does as the Dread Wolf asks. He steals a child and murders it deep in the forest and cuts out its heart. He still hears the crying in his sleep for many nights afterwards. It takes months but he lures a maiden from her clan and butchers her, even though she reminds him of his lost love. But he cannot bring himself to kill his friend who is so deeply in love, for he sees himself. He returns to Fen'Harel without the third heart. And he says--"

"'Take my heart, for I am blinded by love. I shall give my life so that she may live once more.'" Fenris felt his legs tremble. The effort of holding himself up suddenly felt too great, as though the energy had been sapped out of him. His cheeks felt flushed, his head a whirling fog. He wrapped his arms around himself despite the heat, trying to ease his trembling. He must be coming down with a sickness, perhaps? Or some foul magic in the air had tainted him? Or...

"Oh, Fenris, so you are a romantic at heart. I just knew it. I bet you read _Hard in Hightown_ for the plot."

A spike of warmth shot through Fenris and filled him, settling low in his body. "I do... I do not read, Mage." Fenris could barely grumble out the words, his voice as shaky as his body. His skin flushed from feet to face and he realized that his body was responding to whatever stimuli had him so hazed. Fenris had to move his hands to cover his crotch as he felt the embarrassing burgeoning of an erection. A demon, perhaps. A lust demon. It had to be. Had to! Though the damn mage seemed unfazed. But there was simply no other cause that would have him acting like this, seduced by the sound of an abomination telling him a tale.

Anders ignored him. He had turned, holding the book in his hand as if reading a sermon. "Fen'Harel wants to see the man suffer. He says he cannot help and the man must complete the task himself. He must cut out his own heart. But he says he will let the man glimpse at his love, says that her spirit is still waiting for him because she loves him so much. And the man sees her, like a ghost, and she whispers--"

Fenris did not hear the words. The realization hit him full force and he tried to croak out a protest, tried to stop the foolish mage from talking. He slumped forward as the wave of pleasure rushed through him, surging forward, blinding. His body tingled and warmed in a way only orgasm could bring. Fenris fell to his knees in the dirt and sobbed out a horrified cry as the warmth spread over his groin. He could see Danarius over him, Danarius petting his hair, telling him how good he had been, telling him that he was lucky to have a Master that was so kind. Fenris felt a rug, not dirt, under his knees and a hand on his naked back. He pulled at his hair, wishing he could stop himself from smiling. And when he looked up it was Anders, not Danarius, who was smiling back.


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris stared. His arms were weak from effort and wobbled as he tried to steady himself on his hands and knees. The sticky mess in his smalls was rapidly cooling, drying against his thighs. And Anders was just staring.

Fenris tried to push himself up, to turn away from the mage, anything, but he felt so weak. It had been years since he had felt this way. Not since Danarius. And he hated it. Bile rose in his throat and Fenris had to force it back, acid burning all the way down. 

Anders said nothing, staring, that small smirk on his lips. Fenris had no doubt the abomination took pleasure in this, seeing him weak and on his knees. Brought to his knees by a few words.

As the skin of water hit the dirt next to him, Fenris almost jumped. A rag followed, landing over the pouch and Fenris heard the mage's departing footsteps. He looked up and saw the door close and he was left alone in the room, the flickering of the fire the only light. Silently, he thanked the mage for the privacy, though he would never to Anders' face. No, especially not after the way he had looked at Fenris. 

Fenris unlaced his leggings and pushed them down along with his smalls. A rag and a skin of water was a fairly crude way of cleaning such a mess but it was better than facing the shame of walking back to Hightown in such a state. The water was deathly cold and the sting cut through his nerves and killed the last of his body’s pleasure. It was welcome.

Nausea resettled in his stomach. He could not face the mage. Anders knew now that one phrase could wield so much power, could control Fenris. Fenris would not allow that to happen. Not again. He had been a slave. Slave in mind, soul and body, had been there for Danarius' pleasure, had even craved it; craved the touch of the depraved man he had called Master. He would never again be beholden to another.

Fenris pulled up his leggings and laced them. It would do. The wadded rag was thrown on the fire and he watched it curl and blacken as it burnt. Fenris heard Anders' footsteps before the mage could startle him again.

"We should leave. Tell Hawke this place is here." Anders dropped the book on the fire and the flames leapt higher. The book and the rag were reduced to ash and the flames died away.

Fenris expected the mage to say something else, but he didn't. There were no jokes, just a horrible, awkward silence as they walked the long corridor back to the junction. And as soon as Fenris saw the light of day he fled. He would not stay. He would not wait until the mage's blessed silence ran out. Hawke would understand. Hawke would leave him for the time he needed. The only thing he caught as he left was the start of his name from Anders' lips and Fenris cursed at the surge of anticipation that flooded through him.

 

 

Fenris was good at hiding. He had hidden from Danarius for years; he squatted in the Hightown manor and scared most would-be guests away purely by being there to dissuade them from further visitations. Hawke was the only person he deemed to call 'friend'.

So of course it was Hawke that showed up. She had left him, as expected, for as long as she felt he deserved time alone. But two days passed and then she busted into his manor. Hawke twirled her dagger around in her hand as she merrily skipped up the stairs, regardless to his state of being. Fenris was sure Hawke would not be concerned if he was sleeping, naked, or if he were to be having sex with someone in his bed. More likely than not if it were the latter she may ask to wait and watch.

"All right, Broody. Care to talk about it?" she asked and leaned against the door.

Fenris huffed and looked away, turning to face the window. Anyone else he would ask to leave - force to leave - but never Hawke.

"You don't usually go running off in the middle of an adventure. You left me with Isabela and Anders. I need my favorite warrior."

"I was..." Fenris had no lie prepared. He had not thought this through.

"Anders said you were overcome with memories of Tevinter and that you needed some time alone."

Fenris scowled. The mage had covered for him? To what end? "He is...correct." It was a convincing lie. "I apologize, Hawke. It will not happen again."

"We all have demons, Fenris, even if they aren’t all creepy and make our skin glow blue like Anders' demon does." 

"I let the past claim me." He cleared his throat. "Did you find anything of use in the passages?"

"A demon, like I thought. A rage demon. It had been down there for quite some time before the tunnel collapsed and it could escape. Once Isabela and I got rid of it, we found Anders and went back down to look through that room. Varric said some of the stuff could fetch a good price on the black market. I'll make sure you get your cut."

"I require no payment."

"And that's why you'll take it. You know, you could fix this place up a bit. Even just get the holes in the roof patched. I know Kirkwall doesn't snow in winter but I don't want you catching a cold when you get rained on, Fenris."

He huffed again but Fenris knew that he would likely have the dwarf seek a carpenter for him now that Hawke had insisted. He could not deny her. Hawke was silent when she moved, a mist, a shadow. A skilled assassin, rogue and duelist, Fenris had the utmost respect for her. Hawke meant more to him than any other. His devotion...scared him.

"Anders sent his regards, you know. Said he hoped you would be joining us again soon."

Of course. The mage would send thinly veiled jokes through Hawke. "The mage holds no compassion for my wellbeing. You know this, Hawke."

"C'mon, Fenris. You said you would try. Anders was just being nice. He didn't make a comment about mage rights or his manifesto the other day. You know that I prefer not to choose sides but Anders has been far more vocal since the Templars took Bethany. Yet he said nothing as not to argue with you. He is trying, even if a good deal of the time he can be completely insufferable."

Fenris felt the air rush out of his lungs at Hawke's disappointment. In the past he had lived for no other purpose than to make Danarius happy. Was he any better now? He may insist that he was free but had his chains not simply changed hands? Hawke loved Isabela, in whatever way they had decided worked for them, yet Fenris devoted his life to her despite knowing his affection and devotion could not be returned.

He had given his freedom, through his own choice, to Marian Hawke, and what little he had left had been taken from him by that damnable mage.

"If you gave it a chance you would find that you and Anders have a lot more in common that you think," Hawke said. "Anders has suffered more than he lets on."

"I would see you to the door. I...wish to visit the mage."

Hawke grinned. "Good! Just give it a chance, okay?"

Fenris walked her to the door and Hawke disappeared into the crowds of Hightown. Dusk was settling over the city and Fenris shielded his eyes from the low set sun. It was rare to see Hawke out before nightfall unless she had been on a task. Likely she had taken Aveline to complete her party upon his absence.

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did. 

Fenris grabbed his sword from upstairs and then left for Darktown. Like most houses in Hightown, his manor had an escape route through his cellars. It cut the journey significantly and avoided traversing Lowtown where he might be stopped by one of Hawke's companions. 

He could not let the mage hold this over him. Fenris had chosen to give his freedom to Hawke, but he would not suffer a mage controlling him. _Especially_ the abomination.

The lanterns outside the Darktown clinic were still lit and Fenris had to sidle around a large family jostling at the doors; a family that had evidently been told to wait outside. Anders' gaze caught Fenris' the moment he walked in and it held there for a long moment, long enough for the heat to rise in Fenris' body and spread across his nose and up to the points of his ears. Fenris growled and looked away. This could not be happening. Not again. He would not let this happen again. But he could not cast out the mage's patients. He had to wait.

More than once he caught himself watching the mage. Each time a new surge of healing magic pulled at his markings he looked up, assessed the situation and watched the mage move between patients. Anders healed a broken arm, a knife wound that infection had ravaged, helped a young elven child with a terrible cough and aided many other patients that trickled into the clinic over the following hours. Fenris stood in the corner, resting against the wall, and waited. Anders never once spoke to him but it did not stop him from looking over.

After many long hours the mage's reserves seemed to finally plummet. Fenris had seen him tire in battle much sooner, but Anders seemed to have a much greater pool of power to draw from when it came to healing. Even when he was utterly exhausted from battle, the mage would always heal them. Anders swayed on the spot and grabbed the edge of the table to hold himself up. He looked feverish, with red, blotchy cheeks and sweaty brow, but he ushered the last of the patients out with the same professional courtesy he had shown them all night.

"You do yourself no service by draining yourself so. If the Templars were to raid your clinic, you would not be able to fend them off," Fenris said to Anders when he came back into the clinic, the lanterns outside extinguished at last.

"Why are you complaining then? You would love it if the Templars finally hauled me away to the Gallows. You would probably insist they make me Tranquil."

Fenris jutted his chin forward and glanced away. "You come to rash conclusions, Mage."

"Do I? You wish to tell me that you secretly enjoy my company then?"

Fenris clenched his jaw as the words spiked another surge of lust within him. Damn this. He had never felt anything but aggravation towards the mage and now, thanks to Danarius' careful training, he was as wanting as a greedy whore. 

Anders smirked and gave a small laugh. "Perhaps you do. Your ears are blushing."

Fenris could not stop his hand from shooting up to touch the point of his ear. It felt hot. And Anders was still smirking. "Do not push me, Mage," he growled out from between gritted teeth.

"Push you? Perhaps you would like it? Is that what you want, Fenris? For all your huffing and puffing you really just want someone to push you around, don't you?" Anders stepped forward and Fenris took an involuntary step back. Fenris was not scared of Anders...no, he was scared of what Anders now held over him. 

"That's it, isn't it? Is that what Danarius did to you? Did he control you, tie you down? Did you beg him to fuck you in the end? Did you beg him to let you come?"

Fenris growled and launched himself forward. The mage couldn't know. He couldn't. He grabbed Anders by the front of his jacket and knocked them both to the ground. Anders' fist connected with his jaw, the bite of the punch harsh enough to reel Fenris back, allowing just enough space for Anders to push forward. Fenris landed on his back with the mage above him. Neither was willing to submit easily now that the fight had started. It had always been brewing. 

There was no magic. Fenris didn't use the phasing abilities his markings granted him. It was just fists, knees, feet, Anders' head butting Fenris in the stomach, Fenris sinking as low as to bite the mage's damn hand when it foolishly got too close to his mouth. Anders' lip ran red with blood, a trail that ran down his chin and smeared across his neck and the front of his jacket. Fenris was having trouble seeing out of one eye as it swelled closed. But they would not submit.

Anders' head banged hard against the dirt floor and it was enough to stagger him, knocking him sideways when he tried to stand. He dropped to his knees and Fenris was on him again, throwing him down on his back and landing on top of him. Anders had held his own but in a battle of pure skill and strength he was no match for Fenris. 

Anders struggled but Fenris trapped his arms above his head, forcing Anders' wrists down hard enough to bruise. Held this close, Fenris saw the moment the mage's expression changed. He saw the pain and confusion pale and the quirk of his lips and before Fenris could stop him, slam a hand over his mouth, the mage leaned up and whispered,

_ "Come for me, my Love."  _

Sweet, horrible words in Elvhen. Toxic, poisonous. Coiling into Fenris' mind and demanding of his body.

Fenris cried out and slumped forward. Instant. He had been trained so thoroughly to submit to the command, his body acted on reflex. Shudders wracked his body and he could feel the uncomfortable warmth that spilled into his smalls, soaking them through to his leggings and Anders' heat below him. And in one last act of complete betrayal, Fenris felt himself thrust against Anders' prone form, seeking the last remnants of pleasure from his orgasm.

Anders flung him aside and Fenris landed in the dirt on his side, clutching his arms around his ribs and shaking. The warmth spread around his body, his muscles lax and pliant.

"I was bloody well right. This is how he wanted you, wasn't it? How long did he keep you on the edge, begging for it? Then with a simple little phrase Danarius could get you to come like a boy during his first time!" Anders brushed himself down, smearing dirt into his already filthy coat. "And you want it. Bet you can't even get off unless someone is treating you like rubbish."

Fenris bit back a sob of anguish, pain and revulsion. He hated the mage for being right. He hated him for knowing and for daring to use it against him. The abomination owned him now. He had found the dirty little secret guaranteed to keep Fenris willing and pliant. Fenris crushed his eyes closed, tucking his chin against his chest.

"Get up!"

What were mages, if not one step from Magisters? For all the abomination’s ranting, he was no better than them all. He had used what he knew to make Fenris his thrall.

"I said, get up! I won't have you lying in the dirt, bleeding all over my floor."

Fenris pushed himself up, his arms shaking. Blood trickled down his forehead from a gash buried somewhere in his hair. He didn't bother to hide the wet patch on the front of his leggings. "Would you wish me to call you 'Master'?"

Anders was silent. Fenris could hear his breathing and stared at his boots, following the pattern the laces made. He could leave Kirkwall, flee again, keep running. Anders would not care to follow him. His only enemy would be Danarius. But if not Anders, then surely another mage would grab his leash. 

“…what did Danarius do to you?” Anders asked. His voice was low, a stark contrast to the yelling before.

Fenris didn’t answer.

“Maker, Fenris! You are not my slave. Look me in the damned eye, would you? You’re scaring me.”

Fenris looked up. His eyes were cold and Anders flinched. “You insist that you are not to be my master, yet you pull on my chain all the same.”

“You were trying to kill me!”

“That does not give you the right, Mage!”

“Ah, and we’re back to ‘Mage’, are we?”

Fenris flinched. Flinched and hated himself for it. Hated Anders for it. He couldn’t do this. He had meant to confront the mage, but really, what could he do? Other than kill the man, he had no defenses. This was not magic, not something that could be cut or fought against.

How could he have forgotten about this? About five little words that could make his life so utterly bound to another. He would not be reminded that, once, he had wanted nothing more than for Danarius to be pleased with him. Forgotten willingly all the times he had begged and cried for Danarius to use him, take him rough and dry because Fenris hadn't needed pleasure to come.

He stalked the width of the room, heedless to the drying seed in his smalls or the irritated glare Anders was shooting him. 

“Fenris…”

Why the mage? Why not anyone else? Even Isabela would be a better person to hold this secret. The pirate might be of generally loose morals but she would not… She wouldn’t…debase him like this

“Fenris!”

His head snapped up and Anders waved at him. Fenris stopped and stared at his feet, aware that he had been pacing now, but still itching to continue. 

Anders didn’t move but he visibly sagged, his shoulders slumping. “Fenris, I…” He waved one hand, unsure of how to continue. “I am no one’s master, Fenris. No one is your master. …never again.”

“And yet you offer me no other choice.”

Anders bit at his lower lip and looked towards the ceiling, thinking. “That’s not…quite accurate.”

“We brawl and your first action is to use those words against me, Mage.”

“Hey! Not my first. I punched you as well, you know. Speaking of which…” Anders took a couple steps forward but hissed and stopped when Fenris stepped back. “Maker, elf, I am not going to harm you. Come, sit, please. Let me look at your eye and that gash on your head.”

The mage had never done anything that Fenris could say was trustworthy but he also had never actively gone out of his way to harm him before. Fenris raised his hand to his forehead and wiped away the congealed blood. Anders just wanted to heal him and he had suffered such magic many times before. Eventually – it took a few moments of uncertainty – he acquiesced and came to take a seat on the cot the mage directed him towards.

“Now…no hitting me, okay?” Anders said and reached forward. Fenris couldn’t help it – he flinched. But Anders was patient and waited before trying again and when Fenris didn’t move he gently parted the white hair to inspect the wound.

Fenris sucked in a ragged breath and he felt the answering pull of his brands as the mage healed him. First the wound on his head and then his swollen, blackened eye. In the heat of battle there was no time to focus on the feeling; it was pleasant, warm and soothing and Fenris closed his eyes and let his muscles relax. For once, the damnable mage said nothing. It was only when Fenris felt the magic draw away did he open his eyes and look up and Anders smiled – an honest, small smile not that infernal haughty smirk.

“Fenris, please let me apologize. I did not mean… I mean, I didn’t… Maker, but this is difficult! I would never deem to own someone or keep someone as a slave or thrall. You’re stronger than me and I panicked and…” Anders sighed. “That is no excuse. For anything I said.”

“You often speak with no thought, why do you apologize this once?”

Anders shrugged. He wrapped his hands around his elbows and hugged himself, turning to face away. “I would not have anyone as a slave. We all deserve freedom.”

Fenris scowled. He could hear the oncoming rant about mage rights and the cruelty of the Circle. Was the mage so blind as to think that his problems were still so harsh in the light of all this? No Templar used a mage like any number of Magisters used their slaves. No Templar could chain a mage like Fenris was shackled.

But there was no rant. It never came. The mage said nothing and Fenris could see him clutching the fabric of his threadbare coat anxiously.

“I cannot forgive you,” Fenris said. If the mage was waiting for his forgiveness, it would not come. It would never come.

“No, I don’t suppose you can. But…what if I could help you?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Help? From a mage who not so long ago had smirked and felt so powerful over him? Anders turned to face him and Fenris scowled. 

“No magic,” Anders added.

“What cause do I have to believe you?”

“I’ve never wanted to be your enemy, Fenris. I’m not in the habit of making enemies.”

“It would seem to me that you are very much in the habit of making enemies.”

“Only because they started--! Ugh, you’re right. Why should I help you? Go. Get out. It’s impossible to talk to you and I’m too tired to try. Don’t worry; I’m not going to tell anyone your little secret. I barely want to think about it myself.”

It was all the incentive Fenris needed to leave. He did not want to look at the mage any longer, either. Somewhere there was the small, eager little hope that Anders told the truth. That he truly could help Fenris. He hated the thought. Hated that he should be bound to the mage in any way. Hated with so much fury that he wanted to choke the life out of the mage.

He stormed away and wrenched open the door and only paused when he heard Anders call his name again.

“Think about it, okay? But you have my word, however little you think it worth – I will not tell.”

Fenris looked back over his shoulder. Confusion sat in his stomach, cold and nauseating. If it were anyone else, he might feel inclined to believe them. If it were anyone else, he might stay to hear them out. But it was the mage – an abomination. He could not. “You should heal yourself, Mage,” he said, words slipping out unbidden. He blanched and stormed out, slamming the door far harder than necessary. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

"My, my, you are in a bad mood today!" Isabela said. She leaned on Fenris' shoulder and he shrugged her off.

"I am in no worse a mood than usual," Fenris replied and Isabela laughed. Actually laughed at him and Fenris growled and turned away from her.

"Oh, sweet, if you scowl any harder people are going to start dropping dead in the streets. Not that I'm at all opposed to your delicious smolder. So how about you tell me all about it."

"There is nothing to tell."

"Could your tongue be loosened with some wine and a soft mattress with an enticing bed fellow?"

"I doubt Hawke would agree with your offer."

"Oh, how little you understand of our intrepid leader, then! Hawke doesn't like me entertaining outside of her bed, but in it...that's a different story. And if it were you, I doubt there would be an objection."

Fenris looked across the path to where Hawke was haggling with a merchant. She was picking something from beneath her nails with the sharp point of her dagger, nonchalant in her dealings. Varric was beside her, speaking animatedly with his hands. The merchant did not stand a chance.

The thought of having Hawke did raise an interest in him. To hold her, inhale her scent, to lay with her and watch her unravel beneath him...but, no. He would not share her. Hawke... Hawke was precious to him. If he were to have her, it would be exclusive - he would give himself to her fully and expect the same in return. It was all he knew. An all encompassing, possessive life where they would be each other's everything. His love could not include another.

Isabela huffed. "You're even stuffier than Anders. He used to be so fun, you know. He can do this amazing thing with electricity..."

Fenris felt an ice chill run down his spine. He stiffened upright and felt his toes tingle. Fenris stared at Isabela and felt...what? He frowned. A sickness, an anger, a squeeze that made him want to strike her and he was not sure why.

"Too bad he is always on about this mage rebellion thing. I tried getting him to drink a little, you know, work that stick out, but he's basically a teetotaler these days! Such a shame. I say, if you have a talent you may as well use it. Like you and that...fisting thing."

The anger flared again and Fenris forced it down. This he had not felt for years.

Jealousy.

He had been jealous of the men Danarius would take to his bed. Not other slaves, no, Fenris would always be Danarius' prize. But his Master had loved him like a cherished pet. A free man, another Magister, they had the power to take Danarius from him. They had the right to love him.

Fenris had never been jealous of Isabela for taking Hawke. Hawke was never his. He had no claim to her. Isabela and Hawke had been dancing around each other from the moment they met in the Hanged Man and as much as Hawke might joke, might flirt, she had eyes for no one else. But hearing Isabela speak about the mage made jealousy rise inside him. The same jealousy that Fenris had known with Danarius; Anders had chosen to be with Isabela, as equals seeking mutual enjoyment and pleasure. Fenris? No, Fenris was a slave.

It was not a jealousy born from any affection for the mage - the thought alone made him twitch - but an envy of the free, of the right to choose, of the enviable status of an equal.

"I think you two should just get it over with. Let Sparkle Fingers show you why he deserves the name. I promise you will have a good time - he has my seal of approval and guarantee!"

Fenris looked at her. "I would remove his hands for touching me."

Isabela sighed. "All right, but you don't know what you're missing out on! I bet a good shag would really improve your mood."

"What are we talking about?" Hawke asked.

Isabela smirked. "Oh you know, this and that."

"Well looks like we're on the way to Darktown. I was going to head down to see Anders by myself later but apparently some Templars are sniffing about."

"Blondie sure doesn't understand the meaning of 'lay low'," Varric said with an over-exaggerated sigh. "You'd almost think he was looking for trouble."

"We'll do a couple sweeps of Darktown and I can give Anders the herbs I bought for him."

Fenris shuffled on the spot. "Do you have need of me, Hawke?" He did not wish to go traipsing around Darktown and nor did he wish to see the mage.

"I know it's boring and Anders isn't your favorite person, but I was hoping you guys might have sorted some issues out after your little chat," Hawke said. She put her hands on her slender hips and Fenris felt his resolve crumble.

"Oh? There was a chat?" Isabela asked and raised an eyebrow in question. "Were you holding out on me, Broody?"

Fenris scowled. He would not let the pirate goad him. "There was no chat."

"Well that's disappointing. I was really hoping you might sort something out with him. He's not a bad guy, Fenris, he's just..." Hawke struggled to find the words, tapping her finger to her cheek. "He's just determined. Single-minded."

"Obstinate and foolish. I shall have nothing to do with him." Fenris scowled but couldn't quash the pain that rose in him with Hawke's displeasure. "But I shall accompany you to Darktown."

"There you go! That's something at least."

"I think we should put Broody in charge of his safety all together. You know Anders could use the guard," Isabela said.

"I will not."

Isabela frowned at him. "It was just an idea."

"Probably not best to put them together too often," Varric said. "I like Blondie with all of his limbs. He's quite a handsome fellow."

"Varric, I never knew you thought that way!" Hawke said. She leaned down and leered suggestively at him.

"There's nothing wrong with appreciation, Hawke. Besides, everyone likes to read about a handsome apostate fighting for his freedom. It makes for a great story."

Fenris huffed. He would not be forced to look after the mage like one would protect a child. The mage was capable of flinging fire and ice from his fingertips - he did not require a nanny.

Yet he still found himself traipsing through the muck of Darktown in search of Templars. Fenris knew that the dwarf kept most trouble from the mage's door. Deals made with the Coterie and Carta meant that the derelict clinic stayed out of sight and whatever loyalty the rotten residents of Darktown had ensured that the clinic would not be robbed of its scant few belongings. But those loyalties could change quickly.

"Varric, you sure about this raid?" Hawke asked.

Fenris also knew that Hawke had under the table dealings with the Templars through Knight-Captain Cullen. The man was besotted with Hawke. He sent her letters through private channels, delivered by beggars or orphans in the middle of the night and whenever they travelled to the Gallows the man made sure he spoke with Hawke directly. No doubt this kept quite a bit of trouble from the clinic's door but even Cullen could not hide the apostate who did such a terrible job of remaining hidden. Bringing in the apostate that continuously flouted Chantry and Templar rule would guarantee any Knight a promotion.

"Heard it through very reliable sources, Hawke," Varric said. He hitched Bianca back over his shoulder and then shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Well, let us drop these supplies off and we can run a last check on our way back up to Lowtown."

Fenris frowned but he followed Hawke nonetheless. But he refused to go in. He lurked by the door like a shadow. A crabby, petulant shadow.

"Fenris! Stop lurking!" 

He jumped. Hawke waved at him but he looked at the threshold of the clinic, torn between following her orders and his own uncertainty. Yes, the mage had promised not to reveal his secret, but offered such an audience would he keep his word? Fenris holstered his sword across his back and stepped into the clinic. Almost immediately Hawke threw a satchel at him.

"Help Anders, would you? This place is a mess! I'm not sure how you live like this, Anders, I'm really not. Surely you could spend just a bit of coin fixing this place up. Or moving somewhere better!"

"My wants hardly matter, Hawke. There are a lot of people here who need my help."

"Then let me buy--"

"Hawke! I will not take your coin."

Hawke pouted. "But I have so much of it..."

Anders waved him over and Fenris had little choice except to follow, carrying the bag which smelled heavily of Elfroot. He leaned closer and inhaled and a small frown wrinkled the point between his brows. The smell was not unpleasant and unnervingly familiar.

Anders pointed to the corner where other satchels were stacked. "I haven't had time to shelve the ingredients for drying." He paused and kicked at the dirt under his boot. "But please don't feel obliged to stay and help. Hawke's just doing her mother act. I'm not anywhere near as useless as she makes out."

"No, you are not." Fenris almost dropped the bag. He had thought it, but didn't mean to say the words, especially not as loud. His head whipped up and he found Anders staring at him, equal amounts of shock on his face.

"Was that a--"

"Do not read too much into a statement of fact, Mage," Fenris snapped. But Anders smiled and he felt the uncomfortable knot in his stomach grow.

They worked in silence; Fenris lifted the heavy bags onto higher shelves and Anders unpacked satchels of herbs that needed to be dried. It wasn't unpleasant, not necessarily, but Fenris could feel the mounting tension, could see Anders chewing the words he desperately wanted to let loose.

"If you have no further need of me..."

"Fenris, wait!" Anders stepped in front of the doorway. The side room was barely more than a closet, but it was removed from the main clinic. "Please tell me you thought about what I said."

"I did not." It was a lie and Anders' expression proved just how poor a lie it was. Fenris scowled. "You will let me pass."

"What are you going to do when Danarius comes back? What then? Maybe I should tell Hawke--"

"So you would go back on your word?"

Anders looked over his shoulder quickly. "Hawke deserves to know that you may become a liability. She would try to protect you, you know. Despite how horribly prickly you are, she cares about you. Would you put her at risk?"

Fenris looked away. If Danarius came -- _when_ Danarius came for him, the magister would not hesitate to use any weapon in his arsenal to have his prized slave returned. He would arm all his guards with the knowledge and Fenris would fall to them as easily as he had to the mage.

"Well? Should I tell Hawke or should I just let her see for herself?"

"Anders! You need any help?" Hawke called from across the room where she and Varric were attempting to reconstruct a rather poor excuse for a chair.

"Well?" Anders asked Fenris.

Fenris stepped forward and Anders moved out of the way, leaning against the wall.

It was a horrible truth. Fenris knew that the mage - _damn him!_ \- was right. If Hawke came with him into battle, he would become a liability. He would not be able to assist and Hawke would be easily overwhelmed.

"Hawke... I shall remain behind to ensure the mage's safety. If there is to be a Templar raid, I shall be here in wait."

Hawke raised her eyebrow in question. "Willingly?"

"Are you going to take my advice?" Isabela asked as a huge grin spread across her face.

"Perhaps, or perhaps I owe Hawke this favor, Pirate."

"Oo, well this is exciting. I believe we should leave them, Hawke. Though I so wish to stay."

"You have an active imagination, Rivaini. Those two will never get along. I'll be surprised if they don't tear enough other apart," Varric said. He kicked the chair leg and it wobbled dangerously on two legs before falling back to the ground, legs akimbo. "Though I think this is beyond our expertise, Hawke."

Hawke sighed. "Yeah, I think you're right. All right. Let's get out of here. If we spot any Templars on the way out, we'll deal with them. Be good to Anders, Fen. ...and thank you."

Fenris felt his chest swell at Hawke's approval. He saw them out and closed the door behind them, locking it once inside. The lanterns were dark and the silence of the room was overwhelming.

"What do you want from me, Mage? Why are you offering this?"

Anders shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets. "You always think the worst of me. Think I must want something. What exactly do you think I get out of living in a hovel and treating the ill for free? Or helping mages escape the Circle?"

"I cannot speak for you, Mage. What you do appears...ludicrous."

"Yes. And yet I still offer to help you, even though you hate me, even though if it was me in your position I have no doubt you would tease me mercilessly."

"I would--"

"Fenris, I've known you too long. I have no doubt that by now the entire group would know and would probably be exploiting my weakness every chance they got. Don't you wish to see a mage on his knees before you?" Anders crossed the distance between them. He shucked off his coat and dropped it to the ground. 

"Don't you imagine having Danarius on his knees, weak and powerless?" Anders dropped to his knees and Fenris sucked in a harsh breath. "Don't you imagine doing to him what he did to you?"

Fenris could feel his heart racing in his chest. The heat burning through his veins and the pulsing of his brands as Anders stared up at him. The mage was not like Danarius - younger, fitter, possibly stronger, but he was still a mage and a sick thrill throbbed in him at the thought of Anders at his mercy.

"Can you imagine it?" Anders asked. He put his hands behind his back and stared up at Fenris.

"...yes."

"Do you want it?"

"Yes."

"Then take it."


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris wasn't aware he had been holding his breath until he let it out in a hard rush. Anders smirked at him and cocked his head to the side, his hair falling away from his neck. Fenris watched it, watched the rise and fall of the mage's chest in his threadbare tunic. Fenris swallowed the rising lump of anticipation that welled up in his throat. The mage was offering himself...for what? He could surely not mean to...

"Well?" Anders asked. "I am here. On my knees...at your mercy. Would you do nothing with me?"

"I..." Fenris swallowed again. "I am unsure...of what you wish me to do."

Anders laughed. "That's your problem right there, Fenris. What I wish? What I wish doesn't matter! What do you wish?"

Fenris frowned, confusion settling over him. What he wished? He wished for nothing. He wished for... Fenris clenched his hand into a fist, feeling the sharp points of his gauntlet dig into his flesh. He wished for revenge against Danarius, wished to crush the man's heart in his hands, make him suffer by the monster he had created. He wished to finally be free of the man, of his past, of the past he couldn't remember. 

But with this _training_ hanging over him, Danarius had him in chains as securely as he ever had. To be free he had to be rid of this collar.

"I wish to be free," Fenris said finally.

Anders smiled. Not the smirk, no, that was gone, but the genuine, bright smile that warmed his eyes and sent a pulse of longing through Fenris. It was not because of the mage \- he refused to believe that. But to have someone, anyone gaze at him with eyes so full of genuine affection, well...

"To be free you have to think about what you want. To be selfish. Doesn't mean you have to be an ass about it, just admit to yourself that you want something. Like that wine you drink so much. Do you even like it?"

Fenris could taste the wine on his tongue from memory alone. It was pleasant. "I do."

"That's a start. So? You have a mage on his knees, offering himself to you...what would you do with him?"

"You would not like the truth, Mage."

"You would be surprised what I like. Try me."

Fenris stretched his fingers before clenching his fists again. The images shot to his mind - he would force a mage to submit to him, have them at his complete mercy. He would degrade them, dominate them, wrench screams of pain from them. But this was not just a mage, Fenris admitted with a sick realization. Anders was not just any mage. Anders was not Danarius.

"I would not do to you what I would to him. I would take no pleasure from your pain."

"You know, some people are into that. Call it a...kink."

Fenris looked appalled.

"I said some people. Don't give me that look. You have to make everything difficult, don't you? Obstinate git... All right then, Fenris, what would you have of me? I am not him...yet I am still at your feet on my knees."

Fenris raked his gaze up Anders body. Anders was an attractive man, he could admit that. He was not like most mages. He had muscle from spending his days running around Sundermount and the Wounded Coast with Hawke. His skin was still pale but had a healthy flush. He was slim, almost too thin from eating little, but not at all unpleasant to look at. If he was silent he would be much easier to deal with. It was his damnable personality that ground Fenris' nerves.

"I would have you silent. You do not deserve freedom. You do not understand it."

Anders twitched. Fenris saw his lips quirk and Anders looked at the ground but didn't answer. There was a slight shake of his shoulders but nothing else.

"...and how do you intend to keep me silent?" Anders asked but didn't look up.

A quiver ran through Fenris' body. It was sick, he knew. He should not be encouraged by the submissive image of Anders on his knees, staring at the floor. It was disgusting, but it was there. He looked at the golden hair that stuck to Anders' neck, slick with sweat and the hunch of his shoulders and Fenris remembered all too well-being in that position so many times. Danarius would lead him around on his hands and knees, laugh and parade him like a pet, and Fenris had begged for it. Dammit, he had begged Danarius to collar him, to use him.

Fenris ground his teeth together. "Mages... You are all alike. You use your power, take and take and ruin everything you touch. I do not trust you, Mage, yet you offer yourself to me. I should show you what it is like to be a slave."

Anders twitched again and Fenris smiled, staring down at the mage's hunched shoulders. "...remove your clothing."

Fenris expected the mage to protest. He expected this to be pulled from him and the mage to laugh at him for believing such an act. But Anders' hands moved to the hem of his ragged tunic and pulled it up over his head. Fenris didn't see where the item was thrown, eyeing the exposed skin instead; pale with a fine layer of golden-red hair, defined muscles under scarred skin. Far more scars than Fenris expected, crisscrossing his arms and chest, a particularly ugly scar under his heart and lower between his ribs. Fenris frowned but Anders didn't pause. Boots were removed and cast aside and Fenris watched Anders' fingers as they unlaced ripped trousers.

He could stop this. He could leave now and never return but the anticipation was surging through him and Fenris was keenly aware of the low pulsing of his brands in time with his heartbeat. He wanted to see Anders on his knees, naked and helpless. He would tie the mage's hands, force him to bow, to submit, to-- 

Fenris clamped down on those thoughts. He did not hate Anders. Despite everything...he did not hate him. Anders was a nuisance, stupid, impudent and weak-willed but Fenris did not hate him. He did not deserve to be beaten. He did not deserve to be made Tranquil or to be helpless at the hands of corrupt Templar Knights.

And that revelation was as unsettling as realizing the extent of his feelings towards Hawke the first time.

Anders looked up briefly, just a flick of his eyes. Slaves in Tevinter were beaten for less. 

Fenris did not strike him. Anders smiled and slipped out of his trousers, sliding his smallclothes down along with them. Fenris pulled in a shuddering breath at the sight of Anders' cock - hard and heavy between his legs, the thatch of darker hair surrounding it.

"You...enjoy this?" Fenris asked.

Anders smirked and Fenris did feel the compulsion to strike him just to remove the look from his face.

"As much as you do, Broody," Anders said. It was clear he was looking straight at Fenris' crotch and the not so subtle bulge his cock was making against his leggings.

"Why did you do this?" Fenris asked. "You are...naked."

"Really? I was wondering why it was a bit nippy." Anders grinned and Fenris scowled at him. "Fenris, please. I asked you what you wished of me. This is what you wished. Aren't you pleased?"

Fenris mulled on the thought for a moment. "Yes. I am...pleased."

"And...? I will do nothing except what you ask of me. If you do not ask...you receive nothing."

Receive. The thought was enticing. Fenris had been with so few people and only ever one of his own choosing. Danarius had complete control of his body as a slave. Danarius had chosen when to take him, chose when Fenris should service him. And Fenris had done so willingly. His experience as a free man had been very different. The woman had been nice, willing. Fenris did not know what to do as a free man. The night had been cut appallingly short once the woman had realized exactly how little Fenris had been capable of giving.

But now he had Anders on his knees, naked. Anders at his feet willing, for whatever reason, to give Fenris whatever he desired.

"I wish for you to touch me."

Anders smiled and Fenris felt the rush of heat to his groin. Anders was here as an equal. He was allowing Fenris to lead, to control, but they both knew that this could be stopped at any time. All Anders had to do was refuse.

But he didn't. Anders crawled forward the couple steps until his chest was pressed to Fenris' hips and thighs, hot and prickling with the aura of magic. Fenris could taste it like the wine he savored, rich on his tongue.

Anders hands were on him, trailing up Fenris' thighs and across his back until he found the catches to his armor. They unfastened thanks to deft fingers and Fenris reached for the ones Anders couldn't. The heavy breastplate landed with a clang in the dirt beside them. Gauntlets followed and Fenris stood in nothing but his leathers, feeling more naked than if he were actually bare. His sword across the room and his gauntlets on the floor with his armor left him with nothing but his hands. And the tremble that ran through him could be attributed to that or the warm hands that ran up under his tunic and against the skin of his stomach. The muscles twitched involuntarily and Fenris clenched his hand on Anders' shoulder.

"If you want me to stop you just have to ask. Any time you want." Anders looked up, honeyed eyes warm and kind and Fenris nodded but said nothing.

Anders leant forward and pressed his nose to the bulge in Fenris' leggings. It was a sight - Anders' hair falling into his face, across his eyes, his pale skin shining with sweat. It was warm in Darktown, even this late in the afternoon, and Fenris watched a bead of sweat gather on Anders' brow. He reached down and brushed it away and tangled his fingers into the golden hair. It was softer than he expected.

"I'm going to remove these," Anders mumbled against Fenris' crotch. His clever fingers reached for the laces and pulled them free one by one. Fenris sucked in another breath of stale Darktown air as Anders mouthed the bugling of his cock through the fabric. Fenris could feel the rough stubble of his jaw grating against the material.

But Fenris did not stop Anders. He let the mage push his leggings and smalls down to his knees and he watched his cock bounce free of its trappings with a sick fascination. Here he was in the middle of the derelict Darktown clinic with the abomination on his knees about to take Fenris in his mouth all because...he asked.

Or rather he was to ask. Fenris swallowed, his mouth dry. "I... I wish for your mouth. You shall put it to better use than your constant mutterings."

He ran his thumb across the soft hair at the back of Anders' neck. Anders looked up again. He had pretty eyes, Fenris admitted amongst the racing of his thoughts. 

The silence was almost off-putting. Fenris expected the mage to speak, to fill the silence with his jokes or ramblings but no, nothing but the sound of their breathing. 

Would he prefer the mage talk?

Anders leant forward to where he had been before with his nose pressed against Fenris' cock. Fenris saw the mage breathe deep, his chest moving, before his tongue flicked out and grazed the base of Fenris' length. 

The feeling, after so very long, was sharp like lightning. Fenris did not touch himself. It was...not pleasurable. Slaves were taught not to touch themselves, taught not to touch each other. They were slaves to their masters. It had been so long since anyone had touched Fenris that his hand fisted tight into Anders' hair as the mage dragged his tongue along the side of his cock. Fenris watched himself disappear into the mage's mouth, felt the warm, wet heat encompass him and a shudder ran down to his toes.

Anders was skilled. Experienced, Fenris would guess. He swirled his tongue and lapped the drops of pre-come that leaked from Fenris' tip. Fenris had not experienced anyone so eager to do this for him, ever. Fenris looked down and saw that Anders was just as hard as himself, his cock flushed with blood and weeping from neglect. Anders was...pleased. Fenris bit at his lip as Anders lapped a stripe along the underside of his dick.

"Mage..." he growled, "Touch yourself."

Fenris did not have to wonder what it would be like to watch Anders pleasure himself. The mage's hand shot down to his own cock and fisted it eagerly, using the wetness that formed at the head to ease the slide of his hand. Anders groaned and Fenris curled his toes in the dirt as the sound ran through his body and up his spine.

Anders' free hand grasped at Fenris' hip, pulling him closer. In one fluid motion the mage leant forward and swallowed Fenris' cock into his throat, his nostrils flaring as he pulled in a breath. Fenris tightened his hold on Anders' hair, holding the mage in place, feeling the contractions of his throat and the strangled moan that Anders had to force out. But Anders didn't struggle and Fenris let him go, delighting in the way the mage sucked in deep gulps of air when he pulled back from his cock. 

Anders sucked at the tip of Fenris' cock and Fenris could feel his body drawing in, the burn of his release close, so very close, but always frustratingly out of reach. This was why he did not touch himself. He had always thought himself defective, but now he knew. Danarius' training and conditioning was so ingrained into his subconscious that even forgetting the lesson did not weaken the results.

Fenris stared at the mage's hair, the strands that he clenched in his fist. The mage's skin was flushed beautifully. In Tevinter he would be a prize - handsome and powerful. But he would be no Magister. No... He would be taken and broken and paraded on a golden chain.

He cleared his throat and stroked Anders' head where he had ripped hair free. "Come, Mage. Do not wait."

Anders had not been trained. Discipline and submission had not been beaten into him. He did not come on command. But he looked up at Fenris with clouded eyes, gripping Fenris' thigh tighter with one hand while his other pumped his own cock. Another two, three strokes and Anders slumped forward against Fenris' waist. Anders cried out something Fenris didn't understand and spent himself on the dirt between them and across his hand. Fenris felt a rush. His brands lit up and he grasped the mage by the hair again, watched as Anders milked himself dry, felt Anders' soft hair against his own hard cock.

He wanted to beg. He wanted the mage to look up at him and command him to come. He wanted the mage's mouth around him as he came, wanted those chapped lips against his sensitive skin. He wanted to...but didn't. He could not. There were some things Fenris could ask for, and there were some things he refused to beg for.

Anders pulled away and Fenris worked his hand free of the soft hair, very aware that many strands were tangled in his fingers.

"Is there something you want, Fenris?" Anders asked. His voice deep with use and satisfaction.

"You should know, Mage," Fenris growled because he refused to ask.

Anders grinned. He raised his soiled hand and Fenris watched as the mage licked pale fingers clean; that damnable tongue worked around each slender digit to clean away every last drop of his own seed. It was disgusting and Fenris had never wanted the mage to touch him as much as he did in that moment.

"I will do nothing except what you ask," Anders said and rested back on his knees. He looked horribly debauched with swollen pink lips, flushed skin and messed hair and Fenris ground his teeth together as the surge of lust raged through his already sensitized body.

But he could not ask. So Anders shrugged and reached for his trousers and pulled them back on and Fenris had no choice but to tuck himself back into his leggings, cursing and hissing. Anders would not use the words on him, not unless he asked, and he could not finish without being commanded.

He was a poor excuse of a free man.

Fenris clipped his breastplate back into place, pulling the clasps tight. He grabbed his sword after donning his gauntlets and saw Anders staring at him. He had pulled his tunic on but his coat was folded at the end of a cot.

"You do not need permission, Fenris. You are a free man."

Fenris cursed and left.


	5. Chapter 5

Fenris growled and his head dropped back against the mattress. It had been days. Days! Images raced through his head unbidden; memories of the mage on his knees, the feeling of his hands and mouth, the smell of his sweat and the Darktown air.

Fenris had not been able to sleep. He spent his days stalking his halls, pacing, unable to sit still. 

He had his roof repaired above his bedroom but refused to repair the rest of the mansion. He bought new bedding and quilts for his bed and burned the old. He wasn't sure why. He also had the dwarf employ some of his 'friends' to deal with the bodies in the mansion and they were removed over the next few days, one by one, and disposed of in the sewers of Darktown.

But the rotting wood, the broken furniture and burned paintings stayed.

The mansion was not his own. It belonged to Danarius and, when the Magister came to Kirkwall, Fenris would be waiting here for him.

Except his problem still persisted. His cock throbbed in his leggings and no matter what he did, what images he conjured, Fenris could not bring himself to completion. He had tried saying the words himself, over and over until he almost sobbed them out and still nothing. And what had the mage done? Nothing at all. He promised to help and Fenris was still left with the same issue.

Hawke had not come to see him in days. There was no sign of the mage. He was alone in the cavernous mansion with his thoughts of the damnable apostate mage, the filthy abomination that Fenris had let touch him with some regrettable hope that he may help.

Fenris threw the pillow across the room. It landed with an unsatisfactory _whump_ on the floor near his chair. He rolled out of bed and retrieved the pillow and threw it back at the bed. He had been reasonably content in his life, awaiting the day Danarius would come for him. He had not thought about things like bodily, physical pleasure.  And now... Now the mage...

The sharp points of his gauntlets dug into the flesh of his thigh. What had the mage awoken in him?

He had done nothing but think of Anders and the pleasure he had gained from the mage. He may not have reached his finish but it had been pleasurable nonetheless. And he wanted more.

And he could ask. He could ask the mage. There would be no shame in the desire. He did not want the mage, rather the mutual pleasure that he offered. And some small part of him wanted - _needed_ \- to believe the mage could help him. He would never be free otherwise. Danarius would come and take him, would kill his friends,  would kill Hawke...or worse.

He could not let that happen. He needed to be free of this collar, regardless of the shame that it caused. And if allowing Anders to touch him was the key, then he would allow it. He had to try. He had no other option.

He just wished it was someone other than the mage.

Fenris grabbed his sword and left for Darktown. It was late, dark out, and the streets crawled with undesirables, so he did not hesitate to use the shortcut through his cellar. It was the sensible thing to do and saved him the trouble of removing organs from thieves and mercenaries.

Darktown was the usual festering pit of despair and Fenris ignored the beggars that held their hands out, the coughing and snotty children sleeping in corners, and the groups of lowlives that peered at him from under hooded coats. The clinic was on the far side of Darktown common, near the cellar entrance to the Amell estate. Convenient for Hawke should she wish to visit the apostate healer.

Fenris stared at the doors. Closed, lanterns extinguished. It was late, after all. This was a ridiculous thought. But it had been days. Days of no sleep and unending frustration. Fenris knew that the doors to the Rose were open to him like any other but he found the thought...unsavory. At least with the mage he knew he would not catch anything unwanted. He sighed and pounded on the door. A drunkard leaning against the wall snored loudly in his sleep and Fenris wrinkled his nose and thumped again on the door.

"I only see important cases after hours!" came the call from inside.

Fenris felt a surge of warmth upon hearing Anders' voice. It was ridiculous, he knew. It needed to be broken. "Mage!"

There was momentary silence and then a shuffling from inside. Fenris stepped back and the door swung open.

"You don't look like you're dying," Anders said, looking Fenris up and down. "You hit your head or something?"

"I wished to see you, Mage." It was difficult to find the words. Anders was staring at him, not at all impressed with the interruption. Fenris snapped his mouth closed and stared back, hoping that would be sufficient.

Anders folded his arms. He looked as though he had been sleeping, but most likely not in his bunk. He had dark circles under his eyes, much like Fenris probably sported from days with little to no sleep. It took a long, drawn out moment where Fenris was sure he could hear his blood pounding in his veins, but the mage did step aside and usher him into the clinic.

"I wasn't expecting you to come back," Anders said after closing the door behind them.

"That seems like a fair assumption," Fenris replied. "I wish to ask you..." He trailed off. He wanted Anders to tell him how he thought this problem could be solved. However, that meant _talking_ about such a thing.  Acknowledging it.

"I bet you don't even touch yourself," Anders said. Fenris spun around to face him and Anders was leaning against his desk, arms folded. "Am I right? Bet you never even think about it. That's probably why you're so prickly. Everyone needs a good wank now and then, there's no shame in it."

Fenris felt the tips of his ears heat. How could the mage be so...brazen? 

"Well?"

"...no, I do not. There is not much point."

"Hm, that's true. It does kind of defeat the purpose of the show if you miss the ending. Well, we will just have to fix that then, won't we?"

Fenris drew his brows together. "How do you expect to accomplish such a task, Mage?"

"You know, you could call me 'Anders'. It does seem like the nice thing to do for someone who had your cock down their throat."

"...Anders..." Fenris choked out, the name grating between his teeth.

Anders frowned. "Maybe I like 'Mage' better..." He sighed and twiddled his quill between his fingers, touching the feather and brushing it against his palm. "What Danarius did to you has nothing to do with magic. Well...at least this doesn't. But it can be broken. I'm not an expert but I have had..." Anders trailed off. He took a sudden great interest in his hand, examining the lines of his palm and his fingernails.

"Experience," Fenris offered. The mage had experience on a variety of matters, it seemed.

"Yes, you could say that. Experience... Makes it sound almost pleasant."

"You do not have to speak of it," Fenris said. He didn't know what it was but he could tell the mage was uncomfortable and if it made Anders uncomfortable then Fenris was sure he did not want to know about it.

"Oh. Good. Well that's good, because it really does tend to bring down the mood and Hawke already accuses me of being too maudlin."

"It is because you are."

Anders frowned at him. "You're not good at this, are you?"

That was an understatement if there ever was one. Fenris shuffled his feet in the dirt. This was a bad idea. Of course the mage would mock him - it was basically all that came from his mouth. 

He reached back and removed his sword and saw Anders tense for a moment. If Fenris wished to injure the mage it would be over by now and he would not use his sword, no, he would use his hand and rip Anders' heart from his chest. Luckily for the mage, Fenris did not want to hurt him. He set his sword aside, resting it against the wall.

"So I'm guessing you came here for a reason...?" Anders asked. He took a step forward and Fenris had to fight back the urge to step away. The uneasiness doubled in him as Anders reached forward. The mage had already touched him - intimately - but the sense of revulsion, the sense of fear and expectation of pain was still there. 

Anders ran his hands up Fenris' arms, gentle across any exposed skin, and stopped at his shoulders. Anders was frustratingly taller than him and Fenris had to look up at him rather than meet him eye to eye. He had never noticed it as much before, but he had also not been this close to the mage at a time where he could stop and think about such a thing. Anders smelled like sweat and the Darktown air, but also Elfroot and...clean, like pine, perhaps? It must be the sterilized bandages or creams that Anders used in the clinic. Idly, Fenris wondered what his own skin must smell like; wine, perhaps?

A shiver ran down his spine as Fenris felt Anders' thumb move across his neck, rubbing the skin there but avoiding his throat. Fenris could not lie and say he didn't lean forward when Anders leant down towards him, but he would deny the quick inhale of breath before Anders' lips touched his.

When was the last time he had been kissed? Danarius had not kissed him, not like this. Anders lips teased him, coaxed him into responding. The kiss was not demanding or consuming but Fenris found himself complying all the same, leaning forward eagerly, raising his hand to tangle his clawed, metal-covered fingers into Anders' hair. Fenris did not need to be especially careful with the mage; Anders made no noise when claws raked against his skin or when strands of hair were pulled out of his head. Anyone else might have complained.

A small noise rolled over his tongue as Anders pulled away and Fenris found himself following. In his mind it was easy enough to separate the reality of kissing the mage from the sensation. He may not like the abomination but whether they liked each other or not did not need to factor into this situation. Fenris shoved Anders back up against his desk. Pages of what was no doubt the mage's infernal manifesto fluttered to the ground as the rickety desk swayed. Anders chuckled and Fenris growled. He did not like that the mage held so much power here; Fenris felt small, inexperienced. He grabbed the mage's coat, struggling with the straps and clasps until Anders batted his hands away and worked the catches open. 

"One would think you were eager, Fenris," Anders said with another low chuckle that Fenris felt roll over him.

"Do not tease me, Mage. You may find yourself losing something important," Fenris replied.

"Oh? And what might that be? It might not be so bad should you touch me before you do remove it. Do you have any idea how many naughty little fantasies I've had that included you?"

Fenris growled and slammed both of his hands on the desk either side of the mage's hips. "You will not speak of such things. I have no desire to understand the depth of your depravity."

Anders grinned. He looped one arm around Fenris' waist and pulled the elf against him. "Really? I think you'd enjoy those depths." He lifted his hips and thrust against Fenris and the elf hissed, his head drooping, chin towards his chest, his hands placed on Anders' thin tunic just above his stomach.

Fenris felt the mage's warm breath against his ear and bit his lip when Anders' tongue darted out to stoke along the ridge. 

"What do you want, Fenris?" the mage whispered against his ear.

"I want--" Fenris gasped as Anders thrust his hips forward again and the elf pierced the ratty shirt with his spiked gauntlets. "I want-- Damnable, irritating mage! Stop teasing me!"

Did Anders want him to debase himself by begging? Did he want Fenris to plead and lower himself submissively?

Anders smiled and reached up to unclasp Fenris' armor. The breastplate came free and Fenris threw his gauntlets off and he was rid again of his weapon and armor. This time, Anders did not remove his own clothing - after all, Fenris had not asked. Fenris cringed as Anders slid his hands under the leather of his tunic. It was not pain, just the unfortunate expectation of pain that came with touch; the mage's hands were cool and calloused where he held his staff or worked with needle or quill. The tunic was worked free, leather falling to the floor, and Anders' hands were back on him, stroking the skin between lyrium brands. When a nail ran over the hardening bud of his nipple, Fenris threw the mage back, tangling his bare fingers into the soft, golden-red hair. Anders had to reach back to steady himself against the desk as Fenris captured his lips in a harsh kiss. Teeth clicked together and Anders bit at Fenris' lower lip when another few strands of hair were pulled from his head in eagerness.

"Bed..." Anders breathed out against Fenris' lips. "Bed. Or we will break my desk."

"Then we shall break your bed."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, elf." 

Regardless of what the mage said, Anders seemed to have very different ideas of what the night should entail. He got Fenris into the small room he dared to call a bedroom and gave the elf a small push towards the cot. It certainly would not take much to break the ramshackle piece of furniture. 

Fenris sat down on the edge of the cot and looked at the mage. "Your bedroom is an embarrassment, Mage."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware you had standards. How much broken furniture and glass is in your bedroom these days? At least my bedroom does not let the rain onto my head."

"That was...repaired," Fenris said and didn't look up at the mage. He had never been embarrassed about the state of his quarters before, but under Hawke's and Anders' scrutiny he had found himself cleaning up.

Anders gestured towards the bed. "You should lay back. On your stomach, if you will."

Fenris growled. "Mage, I will not--"

"Fenris, you are still wearing trousers and I am still mostly dressed. Calm down."

He was calm. ...wasn't he? Perhaps not. His muscles had bunched in his shoulders and neck and the muscles in his thighs jumped. "What is it that you want from me, then?"

Anders grinned. "You wanted me to touch you; I believe you asked once before. Would you like that or did you have something else in mind?"

Admittedly, some of the burning heat of desire had been quashed since stumbling back here with the mage, but the longing ached in his body. He wanted to be touched. Specifically, he wanted Anders to touch him. "Do not make me beg. I will not."

Anders pointed to the bed and Fenris huffed. He stared at the mage who was still just grinning at him, a sparkle of warmth in his brown eyes. It sent a flutter of something back in Fenris' belly - soft, gentle and soothing, and warm. He shuffled and finally submitted, turning and lying down on his stomach. The mage's sheets were itchy against his skin but the bed smelled just like him, like pine and herbs and a bright scent, like sunlight on cotton.

"Asking for something you want is not the same as begging, Fenris," Anders said. Fenris suppressed a gasp as the mage's hands ran down his exposed back, working along his spine, avoiding lines of lyrium. He did not like his back bare as it was; submissive like this, face down, was not something Fenris enjoyed and his shoulders bunched up again at the thought of all the awful things the mage could do to him. 

Nothing of the sort happened. No, instead the mage's warming hands continued to stoke along his skin, press into his muscles this way and that and Fenris bit on his lip hard when the mage's deft fingers dug into a particularly stubborn knot.

"What are you doing, Mage?" he asked, but his voice came out breathless.

"Shh," was the only response Fenris received. He heard the mage lean away from him and then a stopper pulled from a vial and the rich, earthy smell of Elfroot filled the air. When Anders' hands touched him again they were slick with oil and Fenris could not contain the deep, audible breath he pulled into his lungs and he heard the mage give a low chuckle in response.

Anders' fingers ran down the lines of lyrium near his spine and Fenris jumped. Static raced along his brands and they flared under the mage's hands. Fenris could feel the tingle from his toes to his palms, nerves jumping and pulsating each time the mage's fingers contacted a new line of lyrium under his skin.

Fenris felt the mage's stubble against his ear and only then realized he had closed his eyes. He jerked them open but saw only the mage's tattered shirt. But the mage's lips touched the point of his ear and he closed his eyes again.

"Do you like this?" Anders asked. His voice was barely a whisper, his accent thicker when he was aroused.

Fenris refused to answer. Did the mage want him to submit so that he may gloat?

"Oh...I suppose you don't want me to continue then..." Anders said and started to pull away.

"No!" Fenris snapped and pushed himself up with his arms.

Anders chuckled again, low, deep from his chest and Fenris growled at being denied.

"Please..." he said, but didn't dare look at Anders. “It feels...good. I wish for you to continue."

"There." Anders pushed him back down gently. "That wasn't so hard. Asking and begging are entirely different. Admitting that you enjoy something and submitting are entirely different."

The probing fingers returned and Fenris sighed as Anders' pressed into the tense muscles of his back, working down and out until he almost touched the waistband of the elf's leggings.

"I'm going to sit on your legs. I'm not that heavy, I swear. I wouldn't want to crush a lovely elf such as yourself. It would be such a shame!"

"I could pick you up one-handed, Mage. I have seen spoilt children that weigh more than yourself."

"Hm, I'll take that as your prickly permission then."

Fenris grunted as the mage settled on the back of his thighs. It was true, he did not weigh much. He could feel the warmth of the mage's body on him and he was suddenly reminded of why he had come here originally. Yet he could not bring himself to press for more as the mage leaned forward and ran his hands up his back. From this angle Anders could apply more pressure and better work the tension from every last muscle. Each silken slide of the mage's hands unwound an ache from a tired muscle and resettled the knot lower in his body until Fenris squirmed beneath each press of the fingers on his skin.

Anders said nothing, delightfully quiet for once. He moved up to Fenris' neck, a place the elf would generally injure someone for daring to touch. He allowed it, letting Anders slick fingers work the knots there, densely packed from years of abuse. Fenris bit his teeth into Anders' pillow to hide his moan but he had a feeling the mage heard him. Anders leaned down and Fenris felt the press of lips against his neck and the tongue that ran over the protruding bump of his spine as Anders' fingers touched along Fenris' nape and the soft hair there.

No one had ever paid such attention to him. Fenris had stood guard many times while Danarius was bathed and massaged by slaves, but no one had ever touched him. Danarius did not allow it. Fenris was not meant to feel pleasure as a slave. Slaves had no need for pleasure. Their bodies were not their own. Their bodies belonged to their master. 

Fenris groaned as Anders shifted. He could feel the evident bulge of the mage's erection press against him as Anders moved forward. The mage's body was warm against his back, lips seeking each bump of Fenris' spine. The sheets itched against his chest as Fenris felt himself sweat. His whole body felt warm and pliant, relaxed with an ease he had never known.

Fenris couldn't help but sigh as Anders' fingers worked up into his hair, pressing against his scalp and working in circular motions. Danarius had petted his hair, like a dog at his heel, never as a comforting act. Never designed to soothe aches or worries. Anders' fingers were...talented.

The release of the stress, the tension that came from years of fighting, of running, was better than the release of any orgasm Danarius had wrenched out of him. Fenris felt satisfied and relaxed in a way he had not known possible. Even on the mage's pathetic cot with scratchy sheets in the hot, stale Darktown air, Fenris felt comfortable and sleepy and the weight of his eyelids seemed improbable.

His muscles shivered as Anders' fingers ran back down his sides. His ear twitched when he felt the mage's lips there once more and Fenris shuddered at the low words:

"Stay. Rest. You could use it."

Fenris grunted something that sounded like a word in his mind, but he guessed had lost all meaning as Anders only laughed. The mage delicately nipped at the end of Fenris' ear and then pulled away. Fenris pushed his nose against the mage's pillow, inhaled that warm, summery smell and finally let himself sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris blinked. 

This was not his mansion.

He cleared his throat and slowly sat up, taking in his surroundings; the apostate's Darktown clinic. Fenris vaguely remembered falling asleep. He remembered the scratchy sheets and the smell of Elfroot. At some point the blanket had been placed over his bare back, keeping out the early morning chill. His tunic, along with his sword and armor, was out in the clinic's main room. Disturbingly out of reach.

The clinic was quiet. The morning light had just begun to punctuate the dark commons and the main room of the clinic was only dimly lit. The candle on Anders' desk had gone out what appeared to be hours earlier but the mage still sat at the desk, hunched over, scribbling with quill and ink. When Fenris stepped into the main room, Anders looked over his shoulder and then winced.

"You're awake," Anders said, his voice raspy with exhaustion.

"You have not slept."

"No... I guess I didn't. I found my muse, you might say."

"Mn," Fenris grunted. He did not want to hear about the mage's manifesto this early in the morning. "I apologize for taking your bed."

Apologizing seemed like the right thing to do.

"Oh. Oh, no, don't worry about it. You needed the sleep and you looked so comfortable all fluffed up under the blanket!"

Fenris frowned at the positively delighted look on the mage's face. "I am not a pet, Mage."

"Still adorable, though. Do you like to be stroked, I wonder?" Anders asked, lowering his voice. 

Fenris flinched. The sound of Anders' voice ran through him and he found himself digging his bare toes into the dirt floor. He refused to be a pet to the mage; he was not some damn cat. Yet he found himself leaning forward, wanting those fingers on him again. For the first time since he could remember, his back, his neck, and his shoulders felt loose, relaxed, pliant in a way that almost had him confused as he moved. He was able to turn his head without feeling a twinge of pain and could stand straighter without heat surging up his spine. It was almost unsettling.

Fenris rubbed his hands together for a brief moment; his skin calloused in the places his sword hilt rested. It was enough to bring his mind back to the peculiar situation he found himself in now - stuck in the mage's clinic with no easy way to leave.

Anders seemed to sense his distress. The mage stood and stretched and Fenris heard his joints click. Fenris' tunic and armor was gathered on one of the rickety pallets, free of dirt after having been dropped and left on the floor. Two green apples sat next to his gauntlets.

Anders must have noticed that Fenris had seen the fruit. "From a woman I treated last night. They're not the best, but..."

"No. It is fine. Did you save--"

"I ate earlier," the mage said, but Fenris frowned at the obvious lie.

"Then I thank you," Fenris said. He dressed quickly, facing away from Anders. The mage busied himself with a basket of bandages, folding them into neat squares, keeping his eyes down. Fenris had never woken in another's bed. He had slept at the foot of Danarius' bed like a dog, chained and collared. This was unknown territory; waking in the mage's clinic was perhaps more distressing than admitting that he had chosen to come here hours earlier.

"How do you feel?" Anders asked finally. He still did not look up.

"I am fine."

"Just fine? Is that all I get? You seemed fairly content this morning when I checked on you."

Fenris growled. He did not want to know about the mage staring at him, likely leering at him, and who knew what else. The mage was a sick, twisted abomination.

That Fenris had chosen to visit. 

He sighed. "I appreciate your assistance earlier. The pain has...diminished."

Anders smiled and Fenris felt the lump in his throat bottom out and rest in his gut, twisting and churning. Fenris picked up one of the apples, biting into it so that he had something to do with himself, something that would give him an excuse to look away. The apple was mealy from age.

"Good. Your back was a mess. No wonder you're always so hunched over." Anders took a couple steps closer and Fenris tried not to flinch, digging his toes into the dirt. "Is there anything else you would like me to do?"

Anything else? Yes. Many things. Things that Fenris would not ask for. His gaze landed on the mage's lips and he had to force himself to swallow the apple in his mouth when he saw just the tip of Anders' pink tongue. 

Admitting that he enjoyed the mage touching him was...unfathomable. He could not say the words out loud. But the truth was there. Anders' fingers and hands were cool, gentle, yet wielded force enough to tug and pull Fenris where the mage wanted.

"You are welcome in my clinic anytime, Fenris," Anders said. 

"Yes. I..." Fenris felt as though he were trying to swallow his tongue. "Mage...if you are not busy, I should like you to come to see me tonight." The words felt wrong, dry and gritty like sand. Or maybe that was the apple.

Anders smiled and looked away and Fenris felt his chest clench. Was the mage...? Yes, there was a slight tinge of pink to his nose. The mage was blushing. 

Fenris grabbed the other apple and his sword and beat a hasty retreat. If the mage came to the manor tonight, so be it. But he would no more beg than he would court a blood mage.

 

 

Drunk was a state of being Fenris was familiar with after many years alone in the cavernous mansion. The warmth in his belly and fogging of his mind were welcome friends.

Of course the mage had not come to him. He was a fool for thinking he would. Anders had made no gestures to give of himself so far. This had all been on the mage's terms - Fenris had gone to him, not the other way around. 

A third bottle joined the two empty bottles on the table. Fenris huffed and leaned back in his chair, staring at the fire, watching the sparks crack as the wood expanded and burnt. The mansion, the wine, they had become part of who he was: a runaway Tevinter slave holed up in a stolen mansion waiting for the inevitable return of his master. He felt comfortable with that understanding.

He did not feel comfortable with this... This _want_. Fenris moved his arm and pressed the heel of his hand against the bulge of his groin. He hissed. It was pleasure, it was pain, and it did not help.

The Rose was open to him, just a short walk across the commons. He could visit and teach a willing whore just how to touch him, teach them the words that would see that he finally found his release. He could but he would not. He would not give his leash over so easily.

So, for now, the mage was left holding it in his hands.

Fenris cursed and palmed his growing erection again, pressing hard through cloth to gain some sort of sensation. It was not enough. It would never be enough. Yet he still drew the cord from his britches and pulled them open, tugging his cock free to stand proud against his stomach and the dark thatch of hair it nestled amongst. Fenris drew in a tight breath as he encircled his cock with tight fingers, tugging harder that necessary. 

All he had ever known was pain - pain that he had begged for like a wanton whore - during sex. He had expected the same to come from any coupling. Even with Hawke he had imagined there would be pain. He had seen Danarius take women. They had cried and wailed, broke nails as they tried to scramble away, and bled afterwards. The ones that seemed to enjoy the act were used and discarded and Fenris had watched, impassive, as they crawled out covered in filth.

He squeezed tighter, the circle of his fingers around his cock painfully tight. He did not react when he touched his own skin, even when he pressed or fingered the lines of lyrium. It meant he avoided the pain that came when another touched the markings...but he also missed the pleasure the mage had wrung from him as those calloused fingers had worked along his back. Fenris slackened his hold, just enough, and moved his hand slower. He remembered the mage's lips around him, the way his tongue had swirled and lapped up the line of lyrium along Fenris' shaft. Fenris could see those warm, honey-colored eyes staring up at him, the pale skin flushed with need, gold hair tousled by plate-covered fingers. 

Fenris gasped and tipped his head back. His body jumped, nerves tingling down to his toes. He remembered too well. In his mind he was free to use who he wanted as an object of his fantasy, yet he recalled the mage on his knees, remembered how the mage had looked so horribly debauched. Fenris raised his other hand to his lips as they tingled with memory.

The sound of a slamming door wrenched him from his memories. He jerked upright, his hand jumping away from his hard cock. Fenris could feel his heart racing in his chest and he swore between his teeth. Once more he was forced to stuff himself back into his breeches as quickly as possible, lest he be discovered and caught by someone he would rather not have see him engaged in such an act.

"Maker, Fenris! It's bloody cold in here!"

Fenris sighed. The mage. He chuffed a laugh. He supposed he had not given the mage any exact time before fleeing that morning, though when he had said 'tonight' he had not meant the wee hours of the next morning.

His bedroom door creaked open and Anders poked his head through the crack. Fenris stood with difficulty, ignoring the impulse and need to adjust himself in his trousers. It would have to wait.

"I hope it's not too late. I was kept at the clinic."

Fenris looked the mage up and down. He looked exhausted with slumped shoulders and dark circles under his eyes. He doubted the mage had slept after leaving him yesterday morning, and Fenris knew the mage had not slept tonight as of yet, so it was little wonder he looked so depleted. 

"I did not think you would come," he said finally. Fenris gestured to the seat near his own and Anders gratefully came and flopped down in the chair, his entire body drooping as his muscles slackened.

"It was a hard night and I was kept busy all day with cases of the flu. There seems to be an outbreak. It's not like the poor and starving have much of a natural defense to sickness, after all. I'm sure I will see a lot more cases tomorrow." Anders sighed but he reached down and unlaced his boots, removing one after the other, indicating he very much intended to stay.

Fenris frowned. Of course he expected the mage to stay, even wanted it, but the audacity of the man disturbed him. Fenris had not asked him to stay, but here he was making himself comfortable. Fenris drew his brows together. He could not find the will to condemn the man for the slight. His body relaxed at the sound of the mage's voice, the smell of Elfroot and pine, and Fenris found himself leaning forward in his seat, straining towards the mage's touch. He had drank too much, had already worked himself from interest to aching arousal and he wanted nothing more than the mage's hands on him.

Fenris stood and stepped toward the mage. He grasped Anders' chin in his hand and forced the man to look up at him before he leaned down and claimed the mage's lips. Fenris heard a small sound work from the mage's throat and he tightened his other hand into Anders' golden hair. Fenris tugged Anders to his feet. He could not wait. He had waited. He had waited for three whole bottles of wine.

Anders shoved him away and Fenris scowled. But the mage grinned and nodded towards the bed. "Unless you get a warm rug in front of that fire, my bare arse isn't touching your floor."

Fenris made a mental note to purchase a rug as the lewd image of the mage naked on his back framed by the light of the fire sprung to his mind.

Anders' clever fingers worked up under Fenris' tunic. He scratched his fingernails down along bronzed skin as he sat back on the edge of the bed, Fenris still standing between his knees. The tunic was thrown free and Anders leaned forward and ran his tongue along the taught flesh of Fenris' abdomen, following the dips and curves created by defined muscle structure. Fenris said nothing, holding the noise of pleasure back in his throat as the mage's tongue followed a line of lyrium that ran beneath his skin.

When the mage touched him there was no pain. When the mage touched his lyrium brands there was only pleasure. He could feel the mage's magic, taste it on his tongue. It was rich and earthy, with a sharp tang and pleasing warmth. When the mage came into contact with his lyrium markings his body would flare, nerves sparking and firing in a radiating burst. Fenris gasped as Anders bit at his hip, sinking his white teeth into the darker skin and then mouthing over the abused spot.

Fenris could positively feel the mage grinning.

"Damnable...mage..." He struggled with his words. It was embarrassing.

"I believe you were waiting for me, Fenris."

"I invited you..., Mage..."

Anders laughed. "I do remember that. Yet, I think you were doing more than just waiting patiently." Anders leaned forward again and Fenris swore as the mage mouthed over his clothed erection. It was still straining against his leggings, a definitive outline in the tight fabric. Anders pressed his nose against Fenris' covered cock, nudging it gently, his hands kneading the elf's thighs.

"Yet you are..." Fenris took a breath. "You are also eager."

"Maker, yes. Do you have any idea how bloody hard I was all day after you left? I was desperate for a break just so I could have a wank. Maker, Fenris, you asked me to come here, you are allowing me to touch your sinfully wonderful body." Anders inhaled deeply again, nestling against Fenris' straining member. "Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

Fenris scoffed. "You exaggerate and lie poorly, Mage."

Anders mouthed along the covered length of Fenris' cock and it was all the elf could do to remain standing. Fenris clenched his fingers into Anders' shoulders and hunched forward over the mage. Here he could smell Anders' stronger; the scent of the man filled his already alcohol-clouded head.

Anders' fingers found the ends of the laces of Fenris' trousers and pulled them loose, opening the front of the black fabric wide. The trousers slid from Fenris' hips and Anders shoved them down the rest of the way. The cooler air hit his cock and Fenris sighed and closed his eyes. He felt the muscles in his rear clench, his biceps and calves strain and his dick twitched against his stomach.

"Sweet, blessed Andraste. You were waiting for me." Anders ran his finger from the tip of Fenris' cock down, stroking away the clear fluid that had leaked free. "Tell me, Fenris. Ask me..."

"You would still have me beg." Fenris swallowed. He was ready to beg. He wanted the mage's mouth around him, the mage's hands on him, and he wanted to be able to reach his climax so long in the making.

"Not beg," Anders said. His pale fingers encircled Fenris' cock and he stroked, his movements more than slick enough from the elf's own fluids. "Ask. Tell me what you want. What you want of me. Because you obviously want something."

Fenris bit back a cry as the mage flicked out the tip of his tongue and it grazed against the line of lyrium on his cock. "Do not tease!" he snarled and grabbed the mage's hair. "Take me in your mouth, irritating mage! I want to feel your lips around me."

Anders' hand slipped away and Fenris felt his heart freeze, thinking he had gone too far in his demands. Anders had yet to say no, but that didn't mean he would not eventually. 

Instead of leaving, Anders moved forward and took Fenris' length into his mouth, swallowing it down to the hilt with a greed Fenris had not known people capable of feeling for this act. Fenris groaned, felt his knees shake, and he tightened his hand into Anders' hair again. Anders drew back, tongue working along Fenris' length as he slipped back to the tip, only to push forward again and take it all back into his mouth. 

Fenris did not hold himself back. He thrust his hips forward but he did not hold Anders in place. The mage knew how far to retreat so that he did not gag with each sharp snap of Fenris' hips, and he knew just when to take a deep breath through his nose as not to lose any of the delectable suction around Fenris' cock.

A sick fascination trembled through Fenris as he watched saliva run down Anders' chin. He wanted to come in the mage's mouth, watch him swallow and have to wipe away what escaped. He wanted to come on the mage's face and watch the man sweep the fluid up with his fingers and suckle each digit clean.

He groaned. Fenris could feel his muscles shaking, trembling as the mage moved down and lapped at his testicles; long, broad sweeps of his tongue that moved Fenris' to shuddering exhaustion.

"Stop... Stop! No more." He pushed Anders back. The mage looked up at him, pupils blown wide with lust, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. Fenris ran his hand over his face, sweeping away the sweat on his brow but ignoring that which stuck to his white hair. His heart hammered in his chest and he had to keep his hand on Anders' shoulder as leverage just to remain standing.

"No more...or no more of that?" Anders asked, his voice a husky, accented drawl.

Fenris growled and shoved him back onto the bed before crawling over the mage's body. He grabbed the straps of Anders' coat and worked them open. Anders struggled for a bit as he assisted in removing the feathered garment when Fenris did not let him up. 

Fenris placed his fingers in the holes he had made in the mage's tunic. The mage truly had no other clothes... "I would have you naked, also."

Anders grinned. "Seems fair, doesn't it?"

The mage had seen him naked, either fully or partially, yet Fenris had not been granted the same pleasure. Fenris licked his lips. He had seen bits - a bared chest, an exposed member - but never enough. He wanted to even the field.

Anders shimmied out of his tunic, pulling it over his head and flinging it free as Fenris unwound the laces of the mage's trousers. Fenris moved just enough so that the mage could lift his hips and ease down his trousers and smalls and Fenris pulled them away, leaving the man bare before him. 

Fenris gawped. He was aware that his expression must be comical. Anders just grinned, completely at ease with his nudity and the scrutiny. In fact, the mage seemed to revel in the attention and he stretched languidly under Fenris.

Anders was unlike any mage Fenris knew. He was thin, too thin, but his muscles were strongly defined from his shoulders to his calves. Fenris placed his hands on the mage's abdomen, fingers splayed across the pale skin. Fenris could feel the wiry hair under his fingers. Elves had little body hair so the smattering of ruddy hair across the mage's chest and down towards his groin in a line was somewhat of a novelty. 

Fenris ran his hands through the hair on the mage's chest before yanking them back in panic. His lip twitched back in a snarl. The mage was not a lover. Fenris refused to think of him so. Anders was... The mage was... Fenris inhaled quickly as Anders' hands touched his bare thighs, thumbs running up the inside of his legs.

"I've seen that look before. Usually it is right before you call me some sort of horrible demonic abomination or maleficar. Though I'm not usually naked when you do so, well, except in my dreams.Wait... This isn't the fade, is it?" The mage pinched his arm and yelped in pain. "Nope! Not a dream and everything does lack that horrible grey wibbly-wobbly look. Well, in that case, what's wrong?"

"You still have yet to explain why you are here, Mage."

"Uh, you asked me here? You didn't bang your head did you? I know I asked before but the question seems more and more relevant."

"No. Just as I had not this morning."

Anders sighed. His hands stilled on Fenris' thighs but stayed pressed against the darker skin. "You will never take me at face value. I told you why I am helping you and you still don't believe me. Even Justice agrees that we must do something, though he isn't exactly keen on my methods."

"Do not speak of your pet demon to me."

Anders flinched and there was a silence that Fenris attributed to the mage conversing with his demon. It was unsettling. Fenris had pushed aside so much of his hatred for physical pleasure and he was not entirely sure that it had been the right thing to do. Yet if he continued to follow Hawke he would put her and her retinue in danger.

Fenris went to move away but Anders leaned up and grabbed him, holding him in place with firm hands wrapped around the elf's wrists.

"Don't leave. Please, Fenris, I mean only to help."

"And I am to believe that you do this out of your own crusade against slavery? As some misguided approach to helping Hawke? There are easier ways, Mage."

"But none nearly as much fun." Anders moved and Fenris let out an indignant squawk as the mage flipped him over onto his back. Fenris growled and struggled until the mage's lips met his in a kiss and their naked bodies pressed flush against one another. The anger flared into desire and Fenris' previously flailing arms wrapped around Anders' back, nails biting into the pale skin.

Anders eased out of his arms. He did not complain about the white and red marks on his back left by Fenris' nails. He just smiled and leaned down and pressed his lips to Fenris' chest, tongue running over the lines of lyrium, a hungry cat after a meal. Fenris curled his hands into the blankets. He wanted to tangle his fingers into the mage's hair, tug and pull and force him down. That was exactly why he kept his hands busy in the bedding. His fingers curled tighter when Anders touched the tip of his tongue into Fenris' navel and nipped at the delicate skin just below. 

Irritating mage! Damnable tease, taking what he wanted, using him like this for his amusement-- Fenris groaned as Anders moved away further, leaving him achingly hard and frustrated. He looked down to where Anders had crawled to the end of the bed. They lay not quite on the full of the bed where they had thrown each other and Anders knelt at Fenris' feet, squashed against the edge of the bed. Not that it at all seemed to perturb the mage. 

Anders ran his finger along the underside of Fenris' foot until the elf pulled it away with a snarl.

"They are sensitive, Mage!"

"Yes, like other sensitive things, I'd wager." 

Fenris twitched at the mage's tone, the way Anders rolled out the word 'sensitive' so that there was no mistaking the thing of which he spoke.

Fenris offered his foot back gingerly and Anders repeated his previous action. Fenris' foot twitched but he resisted the urge to pull it back. Elves had incredibly sensitive feet - the mere thought of wearing boots made him itch - and he could feel the stroke of Anders' finger crawl up his body and tingle across his skin. When the mage removed his finger and replaced it with his tongue, Fenris squirmed. He panted something, maybe the mage's name, from his lips and dropped his head back against the bedding. The mage's devious tongue worked over his feet, pressing into points that Fenris had no idea could cause so much pleasure. First one foot and then the other and Fenris was a writhing mess, his cheeks flushed red. He growled at Anders, angry at him, annoyed at him for making him feel these things. And Anders? He could not have cared less. He smirked at Fenris and moved higher, nimble hands stroking up the elf's legs, followed by that equally nimble tongue.

Fenris knew he should feel disgusted. The mage - the mage, of all people! - was licking each part of his body like Fenris was some sort of sweet treat. The idea made him twist with rage but the reality had him writhing with pleasure. The mage was incredibly skilled. He knew where to touch, knew which noises meant 'please, more' without the words ever leaving Fenris' mouth. The mage covered the length of Fenris' skin with his tongue and lips, sucking at a finger, biting into the sensitive skin at his hip, marking him where no one would ever see. Without even coming close to his privates the mage had coiled him like a taught piece of string, ready to snap. Fenris could feel it; that warm, blinding, almost-pain that begged to be released from him. His vision tunneled to a single point on his ceiling and if there were noises other than his breath and the blood in his veins, Fenris did not hear them. 

His body had never been touched like this. All he remembered were Danarius' cold, thin hands raking across his back or petting his head, sometimes stroking his cheek or chin when another Magister would compliment Danarius' pet. But never like this. Never with any accord for Fenris' pleasure. The mage...Anders...seemed to find all the things that Danarius had never done, find a secret longing even Fenris had not known he held, and treated Fenris' body to sensation after another with little to no regard for his own pleasure. Fenris had been so sure that the mage would use him, take his fill when he was able for as long as he could use his flimsy excuse, but if he had intended to do as such, Anders was taking the most convoluted path Fenris had known to reach something he was basically being handed.

When Anders slid against his body, Fenris realized he was sweating. Anders kissed his chin and Fenris buried his hands into the mage's blonde hair, feeling it tickle his cheeks as it was pulled loose of the simple tie. Anders bit the lobe of his ear and Fenris snapped his hips up, grinding against the mage, trying to alleviate the strain, chasing that which he could never find alone. Anders chuckled in his ear and Fenris could have throttled him. It would be so easy to plunge his hand into the damned mage's chest and demand the words from him.

Yet, what would that accomplish?

"Do not make me...beg," Fenris said. He clutched at the mage's hip with one hand, drawing him in closer. Anders pushed back against him and his vision blanked for a single moment. It was too much. No one could stand for this pleasure that may as well be torture. 

"You don't need to beg, Fenris."

"Then give me what I want." Fenris snarled as Anders pressed his teeth against the elf's throat. If there was a mark come tomorrow, he would answer for its existence.

Anders chuckled - a low rumble against Fenris' over-stimulated body. "I can't give you what I don't have. You just have to let yourself go. You're free - you can take whatever it is you want."

Fenris cried out in frustration and pushed Anders off him. The mage landed next to him on the bed. If anyone had flung Fenris aside like that, he probably would have killed them. Anders? No, he muttered something about 'crabby Elves' under his breath and then grabbed the pillow, fluffing it out.

"What are you doing?" Fenris asked.

"What does it look like?"

"You may not stay here."

Anders looked at him and raised an eyebrow. His pale skin was sweaty and flushed and Fenris wanted to yank him back down with a handful of his messed hair. Anders lay down and made himself comfortable and Fenris growled.

"Get. Out. Or I will remove you myself."

"No you won't."

Fenris' eyes went wide. He understood that he was being more rude than necessary given his certain predicament but he would not have the mage outwardly refuse to follow what should be a very simple demand. "I shall throw you onto the streets naked. I imagine a naked mage may be something of interest to any guards or Templars wandering the streets."

"Fenris, you know as well as I do that Hawke is out prowling the streets right at this very moment. Maybe I could find her and Isabela and explain to them just how much of you does glow."

"You would go back on your word, after all."

"I never promised anything about this, Fenris. I said that I would not tell your secret. Winding up naked and sweaty with you is an entirely different matter."

"I should crush your heart in your chest and remove your tongue before I do."

"Yes, because a naked mage missing his heart is so much easier to explain."

Fenris turned away. Mages - they all lied! They played games and tormented those around them just for the fun of it all. He lay down and purposely faced away from the mage. Fenris wrapped his arms around himself and hissed as his fingers scraped across his buzzing skin. Conversation and an argument had not done much to flag his interest. And Anders knew. The first time the mage's hand strayed to his hip, Fenris had almost removed it - painfully. He couldn't help the smug grin of satisfaction when the mage yelped and withdrew the offending appendage. Two hours though and absolutely no rest later, Fenris found himself pushing back into the touch of the mage's hand on his spine. His neglected body perked and hummed and it did not take much to have him writhing again beneath those skilled fingers. When Fenris was sure there was no new place the mage could touch him, he would find himself jumping and arching into a new sensation.

If not for his brands, Fenris would have been sure the mage had worked magic on him. But Fenris knew magic - he could feel it in every inch of his body. This was not magic.

Fenris was forced to the point of sobbing distraction more times than he could care to count. Each time he threw the mage away when it became clear that Anders was not going to order him to do anything. When dawn broke he could not even cast the mage aside. Brought to the point of utter exhaustion he dropped back against the bed, breathing hard, his body trembling. Fenris did not complain with anything other than a grunt when Anders lay his blonde head down against his chest. Fenris just closed his eyes and fell into a sleep closer to unconsciousness. 


	7. Chapter 7

If Hawke noticed a difference in her companions, she didn't mention it. She led them with the same joviality she always had, bouncing from one quest to the next, dragging her sometimes less than willing band of not so merry men behind her.

It was the pirate that gave Fenris a knowing smirk, nudged him as they waited, or commented with less than subtle barbs about how her favorite elf seemed far less prickly towards one certain apostate mage.

Fenris ignored her.

Hawke had them run ragged. Traipsing back and forth from the Wounded Coast and all around Kirkwall left them no time to seek their own refuge. Fenris had spent three awkward nights sleeping across from the mage, trying not to think about what had happened between them. The mage had been gone before Fenris woke in his mansion; no note, just an apple placed on the bedside table. It had been fresh, crisp, and obviously not a leftover from some Darktown resident's plate.

Even if he had wanted to, there was no time to go to Anders and ask for more. Not that he wanted to. He didn't _think_ he wanted to. No... He didn't want to. Fenris dug his fingers into his palm. Going to the mage was not helping him. He would not crawl to him and beg. He followed behind Hawke on the other side of the group to the mage. Did he have to be  so blatant about his status as a mage? Why would any sensible person walk through Lowtown holding a staff? Even if they were not a mage it seemed like a sure way to incite the wrath of any nearby Templar. Did he think that by travelling with Hawke he was not capable of becoming a target? Clearly he must imagine that if he were caught they would ride to his rescue.

"Whatever it is you're getting, Sweet, it isn't enough," Isabela said from next to him. "Though you do look ready to ravish him on the steps. Didn't I tell you he was good? You can thank me later, hopefully alone with less clothing."

"You speak nonsense. I will not be part of your...fiction."

"Too late! I've already started my newest great work. The Broody Elf and Dashing Apostate."

Fenris scowled and looked away, only to see Anders staring at them, his eyes wide.

"Isabela, we've all read your friend-fiction and great work it is not," Hawke said. "Besides, the Mage-Hating Elf and the Advocate for Mage Rights is a bit of a hard sell, don't you think?"

"It's delicious! Think of the tension... Think of the sex."

Hawke paused. "Yes, well I suppose a bit of rivalry in a romance can be incredibly sexy," she said after a moment. Hawke grinned and grabbed Isabela around the waist and dragged her closer. "Wouldn't you rather write about the dashing rogue and the salacious pirate, though?"

"It's called 'fiction', Hawke. I don't need to write anything about those lovely lasses."

Fenris shook his head and they continued on their way, but he couldn't rid himself of the image of the mage staring at him. What would the group say should they realize what had gone on between the mage and himself, he wondered. He doubted they would believe. Fenris barely believed. Should anyone have asked him if he would even entertain the idea of bedding the mage he would have laughed and thrown them out.

It was better that no one knew. It would not continue for long. He needed the mage - for now \- but once that changed this would not continue. 

Once they reached Hightown they parted ways. The mage said something about shopping for supplies, and Hawke offered him a meal at her estate which he turned down. Fenris frowned. The mage required a hearty meal. But Fenris was not going to insist - it did not concern him. He bid Hawke a good day and returned to his mansion. 

It was cold. Vast and empty. Just like always. Fenris drained two bottles of wine and began his third in so many hours. It was of poor quality - six bottles that he had purchased in Lowtown for less than the cost of a single bottle of quality vintage. This, he did not like. He would eagerly tell the mage as such. It tasted worse than the swill the Hanged Man deemed to call an alcoholic beverage. It was likely produced in a sock. But, in the end, it was alcoholic and did a fair job of getting him drunk enough to numb at least a portion of his discomfort.

So far, he had only found one other cure that worked.

A cure that was not available to him right now. Not unless he asked for it.

Fenris was still unsure of what the mage got out of their arrangement. Anders had been just as frustrated as himself. The mage had not pleasured himself although he had been just as eager. The mage had waited and teased and then slept out of utter exhaustion, just as Fenris had. Surely the mage should have just taken himself in hand? What possible gain could there be had from being equally as frustrated all night?

The mage was not going to come to him. Fenris knew that. He had thought many times about insisting he and Anders go to fetch firewood while traveling the Coast but the feasibility of that situation was quashed when he remembered just how many gangs and mercenaries based their groups out of the caves in the area. He did not fancy fighting for his life with his pants down. But he had seen the looks the mage shot his way. Anders had said he had fantasized about Fenris, but Fenris had ignored the comment. He could not imagine anyone fantasizing over him. 

He had little to offer. He had seen the looks the residents of Kirkwall gave him - pity...disgust. Some came to him and they all asked about the markings but most did not approach, speaking amongst themselves and pointing. Staring. It had been a struggle to force himself to the Hanged Man to join Hawke for the group's weekly games of Diamondback and Wicked Grace. Thinking that anyone except the pirate would fantasize about him was ludicrous.

Yet the mage still offered himself. And Fenris knew his resolve would crumble. He could no longer deny that he...enjoyed...the mage's touch. He wished it had been anyone else, but he was pressed to think who else would have taken such time with him. Isabela would have been interested to start but quickly moved on when it became clear that he had little to give her. Hawke? No, Hawke was not the kind. She took her pleasures freely but was not often in the game of helping someone unrewarded. For whatever reason, the mage continued this futile endeavor and Fenris may as well take advantage.

If in the end Anders proved to be just as corrupt as Fenris thought by finally attempting to take what he had sought after so many long nights, then he would not be surprised. He had not changed his opinion of the mage and he would not let down his guard. But he would go to him.

Fenris took his sword and one of the cheap bottles of wine (figuring the mage's 'spirit' would probably not let him imbibe anyway) and headed through his cellar down to Darktown.

He expected the clinic to be open - it was still early enough in the evening for many residents to be awake - but Fenris did not mind waiting. He preferred waiting in a crowded clinic to the pointless solitude of his mansion. Being alone would simply force him to drink more and he did not want to stumble down to the clinic after many long hours of drinking. He was drunk enough as it stood. 

What he did not expect was the clinic to be full to bursting with patients. Two small children wailed next to their distressed mother, a man was supporting an elderly woman who was bent almost double. The clinic smelled of rot, unwashed bodies and antiseptic - the last was the preferred. Fenris paused, ready to leave. The mage was more than busy and there would be no time for Fenris. He was ready to leave but he saw Anders across the room. The mage was turned away from his patient, his hands shaking. Fenris twitched, his brows drawing together. The man was exhausted. They had returned to Kirkwall less than a few hours gone; the mage would not have had time to eat, bathe or rest.

Fenris stepped into the clinic. Each dirty bed was filled with a patient. Some wailed, another threw up into a bucket, and all around them the clinic was full of bodies. The few helpers the mage had were running between patients handing out mugs of water and damp cloths. Fenris had to flinch out of the way of a small child who held his arms up to him. The child's face was red and bloated, eyes watery with tears.

"Fenris..."

Anders grabbed his arm and Fenris allowed the mage to tug him aside. "What has happened here?" he asked. 

"Flu. No... Flu would be too simple. This is some sort of outbreak. Who knows down in this place, Void take it all! You shouldn't be here. You might catch this."

Fenris snorted a laugh. "That is highly unlikely."

Anders sighed. "Yes, I suppose all that lyrium probably does have some benefits. Other than likely killing you slowly. Still...I am busy, as you can see."

"You are shaking..." Fenris stared at Anders' hand on his wrist. The mage was pale \- more so than usual - and his hand was clammy and shaking.

"That happens. It'll be fine."

Fenris could have left it. Should have left it. What could he do, after all? He knew nothing of healing or comfort. Instead, he handed the mage the bottle of wine. "I find this helps, sometimes. I apologize for the taste."

Anders looked at the bottle and gave a small laugh. The corner of Fenris' lips quirked into a smile.

"Another time, perhaps?" Anders asked. He removed the cork from the bottle with his teeth and took a long swill of the cheap liquor. From the face he made afterwards Fenris had no doubt the apology was insufficient.

Anders returned to his work. Fenris did not leave. He was not an idiot and while he knew nothing of healing, he was capable of handling simple tasks. Taking water to patients and removing dirty linen was basic labor. The women assisting the mage looked at him quizzically but did not turn down an extra pair of hands and Fenris tried to ignore Anders' questioning gaze. 

Truthfully, he was just as unsure as to why he stayed. He had no business with the Darktown residents, especially the sick and needy. He had no obligation, even self-imposed obligation, to help. He cared not an ounce for their wellbeing, in fact should a number die it would more than likely benefit their peers and the city in general. One less hungry mouth, one less criminal stealing to feed a hungry family. It was a kinder fate to die. But the mage _did_ care, and Anders would kill himself for his want to help. Despite how they argued, despite his hatred of mages, Fenris did not wish any ill towards Anders, and if one extra pair of hands with little else to do could assist, then Fenris did not see it as a waste of his time.

He had nothing in his life except waiting. Revenge. Pain. He had nothing and wanted for nothing more than to see his former Master's heart in his hand but it had been years and waiting had brought him nothing but further anguish. The only good thing that Kirkwall had brought him was Hawke.

There was a time where he would not have believed how far his feelings for the woman would run. But he had not known Hawke. Yes, she was a selfish woman, but she wanted his friendship and companionship. She sought him out, she cared for his wellbeing - Hawke was not like the others. 

He wished it could have been her. If she had stumbled across his curse, surely she would not have exploited it. She was not so cold-hearted. Fenris wasn't sure Hawke would have attempted to help him (he had a feeling she would have sent him to the mage anyway) but Hawke cared for him; she would not use him or gain pleasure from his embarrassment and discomfort.

He wished he could speak to her but he was not willing to go to her about this. Hawke had a way of making him talk about the things he wished to hide away; about Danarius, about his markings, and his time with the Fog Warriors. The things that caused him more pain than his branding ever could. Scars were often more than skin deep. But this? No... He would not embarrass himself or lower himself further in her eyes.

Instead, he got the mage. Someone that he had every reason to hate with each minute of his life. Someone that he still found absurd, depraved, idiotic and aggravating. When he thought about the mage touching him or kissing him, his skin itched and crawled; he felt dirty and used. When he remembered the pleasure, he felt something entirely different. He remembered how the mage looked on his knees, hair tousled. He remembered how his eyes looked in the morning light, like amber. He remembered how the mage's hands had chased all discomfort from his body and wrenched pleasured cries from his lips. And the two did not go together.

What mage would give of himself for hours, futilely, for people who could not repay him in any way? What mage would allow a dirty child to sneeze on him or wipe its filthy face in his coat? Fenris could not understand anyone \- least of all a mage - doing these things out of the kindness of their heart. Surely, after hours of sweat and grime, listening to the wailing of patients, trying not to gag on the smell of sweat and vomit, one would admit that no ground was to be gained. Even Fenris could feel the hopelessness of the situation when another patient passed and another family member was ushered from the clinic. Sheets covered more than five bodies now and there were many other patients that required the beds.

Fenris looked across the room and saw Anders bent over a table. A woman was crying and pulling on his sleeve and one of Anders' assistants was trying to hold her back. The mage glowed, his body lit up from within and Fenris sucked in a breath as he felt the tug of the Fade. Fenris could not see who the mage attended to, nor did he much care. Anders wobbled on his feet and grabbed the edge of the table and Fenris dropped the linen he had been carrying. He left it in a pile and went to the mage's side and placed a steadying hand on Anders' elbow.

"You require rest," he said.

The woman screamed at him to get away from her baby. Fenris supposed she couldn't know he was helping the clinic. He still wore his sword and armor. He looked down at the babe on the table; its tiny chest rose and fell at uneven intervals and he could hear the laboured breathing. The woman dropped to her knees, hands clasped together as she prayed to the Maker.

"I've tried..." Anders said, his voice low. "After going with Hawke...after all the patients...I'm exhausted. I've used every last lyrium potion I had stored just to restore my mana. Lirene even tried to fetch more but it's the middle of the night, Fenris!"

Fenris tightened his hand on the mage's arm, pressing the tips of his gauntlets into Anders' skin, just enough to silence him. "You have done all you can for these people. Killing yourself benefits no one."

Anders tugged his arm free. "You don't understand, Fenris. I don't know why you're still here but you can just bugger off. I don't need your help."

Anders' assistant looked terrified, unsure whether to help the healer or to flee in panic. Fenris snarled and turned Anders to face him. "No, you require lyrium, am I correct? If you insist on helping this refuse then I shall not stand in your way." Fenris pulled one of his gauntlets off and held out his arm. "Danarius would use me as you would a lyrium potion. I have no doubt you can do the same."

Anders stared. His eyes went wide and Fenris saw his lips quiver. He was so pale with dark circles under each eye; everything about Anders looked tired and drawn.

"If I could just save the smallest life..." the mage said. He placed his hand over Fenris arm.

Fenris steeled himself. He had not told Anders how much it had hurt to have mana drawn from his body by a mage. The lyrium under his skin worked as an unending font of power. Danarius had tested his limits over and over and found none; whatever the Magister had done to him during that ritual was nothing if not thorough. Fenris was a link to the Fade itself. He healed quickly and did not scar, could step between the waking world and the Fade, was like a beacon to demons and mages alike. Of course there would be those that would take advantage. Once Anders had tasted the power available to him, he would likely be no different.

Fenris gasped as he felt the first pull on his brands. It felt as though his heart had stopped; a tight clenching in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. The air left his body in a rush as he felt the mage's magic flow into him. This was not like with Danarius. Danarius' magic had felt like fire burning through his veins. Each touch had seared through Fenris until he clawed at his own skin and had wanted to remove his own limbs just to escape the agony. Anders' magic rushed through him, his brands lighting up bright in the dim room. Patients and visitors alike fled from the clinic, others remained rooted to the spot, staring with wide eyes. Fenris barely noticed them. He dropped to his knees, Anders' hands gone and hovering over the small child.

Fenris could not describe the feeling. It made his body tingle as though someone had struck him like a bell. He could feel the vibrations in his toes, in his teeth. He clawed at the ground, one hand bare. He heard a whimper and barely realized that he had made the sound. He could not even tell if his eyes were open or closed. It was not pain but it was not comfortable. Fenris scrambled away until his back hit the wall and he only looked up when he felt Anders' magic draw away and cool hands land on his arms.

"Fenris, are you all right?"

Fenris could still feel himself shaking. He stared at the mage but couldn't answer. He looked past him towards the table and at the wailing woman instead. The mother was on the floor, screaming, the young assistant trying to soothe her.

"I couldn't do anything else. He was young... His heart couldn't take the strain. Magic cannot heal everything."

Fenris reached up and wound his bare and dirty hand into the mage's hair. He took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled Anders against him. Fenris would tell no one about the way the mage's shoulders shook and the dampness he felt on his shoulder.

"You are exhausted," he managed out finally. "There is nothing more you can do tonight."

Half the patients had fled. Fenris did not blame them. The ones that stayed were being tended to by Anders' assistants but over the night the mage had seen to them all. The patients that remained were not deteriorating and those that could not be helped would pass in relative comfort.

"Please, Anders, please go rest," a woman said. Fenris looked up at her and assumed she could only be Lirene, the mage's primary assistant. No one else would speak to the mage so casually without knowing him for some time.

Anders pushed away from Fenris but did not look up. Fenris could just see the damp tracks on Anders' cheeks. He did not think the mage weak. He thought him exhausted. It was not surprising he had let himself become so emotional.

"Thank you, Lirene. I suppose I should try to sleep. At least until dawn. Can you manage?"

"Of course. You've done much, tonight. And thank you, Serah. I have seen you before with Serah Hawke. Are you a friend?"

Fenris wasn't sure how to answer. So he nodded. It was non-committal but respectful and polite and that was enough. Lirene nodded back and returned to her duties, gathering the other women around her.

"Fenris, you should go back home. You need the rest, too. You shouldn't have stayed."

"You are probably right," Fenris answered. He stood and offered his hand to Anders. "Yet here I am."

The mage took his hand and Fenris helped him up. Anders immediately stumbled and Fenris caught him by the shoulders. Anders closed his eyes for a moment, unmoving, until whatever he was feeling had passed and Fenris felt safe to release him.

Fenris watched carefully as the mage turned to the small body on the cot. The mother had been drawn away to a waiting family and the small body left behind. Anders pulled the sheet over the entire table before turning and taking wobbling steps to the small back room he used as sleeping quarters. Fenris followed, unsure of what else to do with himself but unwilling to leave. Not until the mage lay down, anyway.

One boot followed the other to the ground and Anders began to remove his coat, his hands still shaking from exhaustion. Fenris had seen slaves like this; ones that were whipped as they worked their bodies to breaking. Many died where they fell and they were left to rot in the streets. It was not a pleasant way to go. And he could see all the signs in Anders. The mage was thin, starving himself unnecessarily, barely giving himself enough energy to sustain his life let alone his magic. Magic fed on a mage taxed, devouring them from within, drawing energy from a mage's connection to the Fade. Fenris had been unlucky enough to witness this as well; just another game to a power-hungry magister.

"I believe I shall take my leave," Fenris said once the mage had removed his coat and had placed it folded onto the chair next to his cot.

"Stay."

Fenris frowned. Stay? For what reason?

"Please."

Stay... Staying would mean he felt some compassion toward the mage. He had already shown enough. More than he had expected of himself. Staying would cross the strange divide over which they had placed themselves - not friends, not quite enemies that shared intimacies generally reserved for lovers. Fenris already felt uncomfortable. He kept returning to the mage, craved his touch and taste, and had found himself softening towards the man despite all his better judgement. He questioned each of his actions and yet did as he wished anyway. He had begun to see Anders as a man and not just a mage.

A man that was desperately lonely and, right now, needed comfort, even the minuscule amount that Fenris was capable of offering.

Fenris set his sword aside, propping it against the wall. He removed his other gauntlet and then the hard breastplate of his armor. Anders wasn't watching him and Fenris was not expecting him to. Fenris placed his jerkin on the chair on top of the mage's coat and sat on the edge of the cot next to Anders.

"I tried..." Anders said, his voice low. "Maker, I tried."

"I know."

"It seems unfair. Of all the patients I treat - the criminals, the thieves and smugglers and mercenaries - I can't help an innocent child."

"Life is rarely fair."

"Hm. Justice would have me believe otherwise. Where is the justice in a small baby dying like that?"

"The Chant would have us believe the babe is now in the Maker's arms."

"Do you really believe that, Fenris?"

"I am unsure. It makes some people feel better."

Anders chuckled and slumped so that his back was pressed to the wall. "I'm sure Sebastian would have a whole Canticle ready to recite just for me. He'll be upset he missed the chance in which I may have listened to him."

"You should rest, Mage."

"Mn," was all Anders replied. Fenris felt the shuffling and swaying of the cot as the mage drew his legs up and lay down. It was certainly not as comfortable as the bed in his manor, but Fenris had made his decision. The mage had asked him to stay and, up until now, Anders had never asked for a thing. Fenris could give him this. He slid into the cot beside the mage and pulled the scratchy blanket over them both. The man and the bed smelled like Elfroot and sun-warmed cotton. Fenris wound his fingers into Anders' hair when the mage pressed against him, head nestled on the elf's shoulder.

It was hard to remember the reasons he had found for hating the mage. Fenris knew they were there, but it was easier to pretend that the man in his arms was another person. This was not a mage that would willingly create the next Imperium and harbored a demon. This was a man who cried over his inability to save a child's life. This was a man too proud to let his assistant see his tears, who worked himself tirelessly for no reward, who, for seemingly no reason and against better judgment, was willing to help Fenris be rid of the last chains of his slavery.

 

 

Next they were out with Hawke, she had turned and smiled at him. She grinned and patted his shoulder when he bristled at Anders' comments about the Circle and Templars. 

Because Fenris said nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris stood back from the party. This was not his concern. He had not known the dwarf's brother; he had not been left in the Deep Roads, double-crossed over a statue. What the dwarf did with his brother did not concern him.

He coughed and covered his mouth. When he pulled his hand back he stared at the specks of fresh blood. He frowned and wiped his hand against his thigh.

This manor was full of madness. Madness he would have blamed on mages...had it not been perpetuated by dwarves. Dwarves could not use magic, they could not access the Fade and they could not become possessed. What these crazed creatures were confused them all.

Fenris looked up as he heard the release of the dwarf's heavy crossbow. The dwarf's brother slumped to the floor - dead.

"We should go," Hawke said. For once, she did not insist on looting the body.

The dwarf was oddly silent. Hawke was respectful. The mage...? Fenris saw the mage staring about the room. Anders was spotted with blood, a smear across his cheek; the battle here had been severe.

"It is not always mages that cause such atrocities," Fenris said. His voice scratched in the back of his throat and he forced back the urge to cough again.

"Oh, now you realize that? That it doesn't take magic for someone to become a crazed lunatic? Well praise the Maker, the stubborn elf may have learnt something!"

"Boys!" Hawke snapped. "Not now."

They watched her and Varric walk ahead of them, engaged in quiet conversation. Fenris waited for Anders to follow despite the glower he received for standing in the way.

"That is not what I meant," he said, lowering his voice.

Anders glared at him and refused to answer. 

It was an awkward, quiet walk back across Hightown. Hawke and Varric left for the Hanged Man but didn't stop to invite Anders or Fenris. Fenris did not blame them - if they were to have a deep discussion, he and the mage did not make the best company.

"You will not hear me," Fenris said to the mage and grabbed his wrist before he could turn to leave.

"No. I'm sorry I don't wish to hear you insult me further tonight. I am tired and dirty and I want to go back to my clinic and fall asleep on my stupid hard cot. Lucky me."

Fenris huffed. "Irritating mage. You will come back with me."

"I will not! You can't just order me around and expect me to jump. I'm not a slave."

Fenris gripped the mage's wrist tighter and held him as he tried to tug away. "You may use my bath. And my bed. Does that not tempt you?"

Anders paused, clearly thinking on the proposition. 

"I meant no insult from my choice of words," Fenris added. It just seemed to frustrate Anders further. The mage pulled his hand and Fenris let go.

Anders rubbed his wrist. "I will go...but only because I want a bath! I'm not staying. It's just better than my pokey little trough."

"Then you shall have a bath." Fenris gestured towards the Hightown common and the mage sauntered ahead of him. With Hawke preoccupied with her favorite dwarf there was no risk of her seeing Anders headed into Fenris' mansion. Fenris followed and guarded their route.

How typical that he would once again be guarding a mage. It seemed his permanent position in their party dynamic. Hawke would disappear, the dwarf would scurry to the best vantage point and Fenris acted as a barrier between the mage and their foe. In battle, Fenris could feel each spell pull at him as Anders cast. A blast of ice would encase an enemy and he would shatter the brittle body into shards, swinging his greatsword in a huge arc. The mage would move behind him, protected, and a chain of lightning would light up the room ahead of them. Fenris felt each sizzle of power and, if he was injured, it did not take long for the mage to notice and for the warm healing magic to wash over Fenris' body.

Fenris did not mind so much. He admitted, begrudgingly, that the mage was an important addition to their party. Healing potions took their time and worked poorly and a mage's magic had a number of uses on the battlefield. Fenris was not so jaded that he would turn down an advantage when it came to fighting for his life. And someone had to protect the mage. Anders often made himself a target when a band of misfits realized it was the mage who had just incinerated half their gang.

"I have some food, mage," Fenris said as he closed the door behind them.

"How generous of you. Are you sure you want a _mage_ eating your supplies."

Fenris tempered his anger by digging his sharp claws into his palm. They had touched on a sore spot that, so far, had not come up. Fenris had been able to pretend, mostly, that Anders was not an apostate mage possessed by a demon. And he supposed that Anders had been ignoring how much Fenris hated mages.

Fenris took a deep breath. The air burned on the way down into his lungs and he paled, looking away. "I..." He had to clear his throat. "I mean to share my supplies with a...companion."

"A companion..." Anders repeated.

"Yes. If that is adequate."

They stared at each other and, eventually, the mage folded his arms and sighed.

"I suppose that is adequate," the mage said. "So, where's that bath?"

Fenris aided him in fetching water for the tub. Fenris usually bathed in cold water - he was quite used to missing out on the finer things in life. Anders, no, he raised his hands and Fenris felt the warmth of magic and then saw the steam rise from the bath. 

He supposed he should be aggravated by the mage using magic so flippantly in his home. 

"Here is the soap," he said instead and handed the mage the block of harsh soap. Fenris wondered just how much the mage might smell like the strong soap once he had bathed. "I shall leave you."

Fenris watched for a moment (and just for a moment!) from the door as the mage removed his coat and then bent to unlace his boots. Fenris had bathed with Danarius before and like with most encounters with his Master, it had not been entirely pleasant. But back then he had accepted the small amount of fondness Danarius had for him as a sign of love and affection. Fenris had greedily lapped it up and begged for more, thinking each time his master praised him was just another sign of his undivided love for his slave.

It was hard to think that way now. It was hard to imagine he had ever been so naïve.

He finally let himself cough, his throat and lungs burning. His mouth tasted like he had sucked on a strip of metal. He had not wanted to show this weakness in front of Hawke and especially not in front of the mage. It would pass. He had not been injured tonight and he doubted the few bruises his body sported could be leading to something more serious beneath his skin.

All he had stored in his pantry was some bread and cheese. Neither was particularly fresh but it would suffice. Two pears remained from the basket of fruit he had purchased two days ago so he snapped the basket up and brought everything upstairs. Fenris rarely frequented the other parts of the manor - he did not even know what was in some rooms - but he had found he at least needed to visit the kitchen if he wanted to stay nourished.

But he was no cook. Danarius had never thought that cooking was a useful talent for his prized bodyguard to acquire.

Fenris could feel himself flagging. It had not been a particularly stressful day but the night's visit to Bartrand's manor was seemingly taking its toll. He set the basket down on the table and stripped off his gauntlets. Fenris rested back in the chair to await the mage. He did not know how long one generally indulged in bathing but he gathered the mage would be gone some time.

Drifting into sleep was generally not something Fenris would do, especially with another person in his space, but he must have fallen as he woke to the feel of Anders' cool hand on his forehead.

"Fenris, look up at me," Anders said in that calm, clinical voice Fenris had spent a night listening to in the Darktown clinic. He looked up at Anders and noted his concern.

"Yes, Mage?"

"You don't look very well. And you're burning up! Maker's Balls, Fenris, why didn't you say you were feeling unwell?"

"I feel fine, Mage. Remove your hand," Fenris said. His throat seized and he bit back a cough, spluttering instead into his hand.

"Oh Maker, I hope you didn't get the plague. I told you to go home." The mage grabbed him by the chin and turned his head this way and that until Fenris shook him off.

"I told you that I am fine."

"You are not bloody fine! This doesn't have the same symptoms as the Darktown plague. There is no swelling and your eyes are not bloodshot. How do your legs feel? Fingers?"

Fenris stared at him. He was not used to such...attention. He had never been sick; at least not when he could remember, and had not been scrutinized in this way since Danarius completed his 'great work'. It made him uncomfortable. Fenris twitched and leaned away from the mage's touch.

"Fenris, please. I am trying to help."

He couldn't help himself - he had to cough. Fenris covered his mouth and turned and when he was done Anders grabbed his hand to see what the elf had covered. Fenris found the art of healing quite distasteful, in all honesty. Handling bodily fluids, the sick and the dead...it was work for the lowest of slaves. Fenris snatched his hand back but not soon enough.

"Andraste's Gaudy Underthings! Blood, Fenris? How long?"

"The manor. It is nothing to concern yourself. It will pass."

Anders muttered something under his breath in a language Fenris suspected was native to the Anderfels. It was deep and guttural and had a rolling accent that Fenris would swear he heard rumble inside of him.

"Do not concern yourself, Mage," he added again. 

"What did you pass through? Was there a purple fog? Did you inhale anything from a chest?"

Fenris sighed. "No." Anders touched his forehead again and Fenris' eyes fluttered shut. The mage's hand was cool and he could not bring himself to argue again. "There was...a green mist. Through a hall. I believe I activated a tripwire."

Anders sighed and Fenris almost smiled at the sound of aggravation. Maybe the mage would understand how it felt to be so frustrated with someone.

"Bloody stubborn elf! This is why you don't go running off ahead of the party - especially the rogue! You could have gotten yourself killed and then they would probably blame me for not being able to heal you, like it's my fault you're so batty. Maker! I can see it now, 'Anders, how could you let Fenris die! It's because he hates mage's, isn't it?'. Like that would be the way I watch you die. No, I would likely strangle you with great glee, you stubborn pain in my rear."

"Your impersonation of Hawke...is flawed."

Anders looked down at him and raised his eyebrow. "Oh...shut it." Anders knelt down and Fenris frowned as the mage removed his cool, pale hand from the elf's skin. "May I?"

A swirl of fear clutched at Fenris' insides as he realized the mage meant to heal him. He knew it did not hurt and he had felt the touch of Anders' magic many times before, but he could not remove a reaction so ingrained. He nodded and he felt Anders begin to remove his armor. It was placed aside and the mage's hand pressed against the leather of his jerkin.

The first trickle of magic saw him tense. The action was completely involuntary. Anders' free hand soothed over his knee and Fenris relaxed. Anders' magic was warm and flowed over him like a silken sheet. There was no tingle of pain coiled, hidden and prepared to strike. Fenris rested back and closed his eyes. He heard Anders mumble something about poison gas but he didn't care to listen to more. The burning in his chest soothed and cooled and the scratching in his throat eased until he felt as though he could swallow again. Fenris doubted the symptoms would have grown worse but he had not been eager to live through the next few days in agony as his body healed itself and flushed the poison.

Anders pulled his hand away and stood and Fenris looked up at him. "Mage--"

"You complain that all mages are no better than magisters \- blood mages and maleficarum \- yet you'll sit there and let me heal you. Magic isn't so bad when it's useful, is that right?"

"What is your rant, Mage? I have not said anything of the like."

"You don't have to - you say enough. Not all mages are blood mages. Perhaps you would just have all mages as slaves! We can cook your food and heat your bath water and heal your injuries and you can throw us back in the closet when you have no further use for us."

"You know nothing of slavery. Do not pretend to."

Anders huffed and folded his arms. "Don't I? What is it to be a slave? To lose everything? To be treated as an object or a plaything? To be used? That's what Danarius did to you. You were persecuted simply for being born. I did not choose to be a mage, just as you did not choose to be a slave."

Fenris stood in one smooth motion and glared at the mage. "You speak of things that you cannot understand. You think that it is unfair to have more power than any man? It is for your own good you are guarded. Mages will always abuse their power."

"Don't give me that horse shit. You let one experience tarnish your entire life! You cannot know every mage."

"I have known enough. All mages use their power to their own gain. Eventually. They are all weak." Fenris took a step back away from the mage. He didn't understand what had set him off into their usual argument. Fenris had tried, for all of their sakes. He had tried to remain silent for Hawke, and he had tried to bite his tongue so that whatever fragile peace he had with Anders might be maintained, but the mage now seemed determined to break that.

"You always say that. Weak. Yes, some mages fall to demons...but so do men without magic! You have had a demon tempt you all the same, Fenris. Do you know what it's like to be tempted by demons every night in your sleep? To hear them whisper in your ear every hour of the day? Any mage is strong just for resisting up until he feels there is no other choice."

"Did you feel there was no other choice when you bargained with your demon?" Fenris asked.

Anders swore under his breath in the same language Fenris had heard earlier.

"I don't know why I agreed to help you. You make everything so impossible!"

"I have done nothing, Mage. I did not start this argument. You seem prepared to find insult where there is none."

Anders turned and grabbed Fenris by the collar. He was taller than the elf but not strong enough to physically move him. "You seem prepared to insult me."

"I mean no insult to you."

Anders paused and Fenris could feel the mage's fingers against his throat from where his hand was still curled. Fenris could not explain his intentions to Anders. How did he explain that he hated Anders for what he was and for what he represented but that he did not hate the man? Anders wanted to find fault with what Fenris said \- it was their established pattern.

"Release me," Fenris said and Anders immediately let go of his collar. Fenris felt a chill run up his spine. He reached forward and touched his hand to the mage's cheek and then took him by the hair, forcing him to look down. "I meant you no insult. Do you understand me?"

"No. I don't. I don't understand you at all." 

Fenris felt himself smile and Anders' eyes went wide. "Then we have come to another agreement, Mage. Neither do I understand you." Fenris placed his other hand on Anders' shoulder and forced him down to his knees. Anders gave no resistance, simply kneeling in front of Fenris as he was directed. "You rant and rave and start an argument over nothing...yet you do as I say. You come down to your knees in front of me. Why?"

Anders finally looked away. "We have all been trained in certain ways."

Fenris let go immediately. His hands burned as though he had plunged them into fire. He stared at the top of Anders' head but couldn't find any words. He didn't want to think of the implications. 

The mage ranted about the Templars, about the Circle, claiming horrors and injustices with little proof. Fenris had heard all of the worst tales from the mage as Anders attempted to convince him of the suffering of the Circle Mage. Of course, he had believed very little the mage told him.

The stories had rarely been about Anders. They were tales of things that happened to other mages who broke Chantry law or attempted an escape from the Circle. But what man could campaign so hard for something he felt no personal connection to other than a type of common bond? Fenris had never thought to care what had happened to the mage - it had never concerned him.

Did he care now? He was unsure.

Fenris slowly dropped to his knees in front of the mage. Anders met his eyes but said nothing.

"I do not understand a mage who would heal the sick and needy for nothing in return," Fenris started and he heard Anders suck in a harsh breath. "I do not understand a mage who would take a...spirit...into his body without the want for power. And I do not understand a mage who could hold my leash and yet never pull the chain."

"You never tried," Anders said.

"Yes...that is true." Fenris leaned over and grabbed the basket from the table. He held it out to Anders and the mage snapped up a pear. Fenris placed the basket between them and reached over and took the open bottle of wine from the table for himself. He took a drink and it washed away the last of the metallic taste from his mouth. "I do not know how to trust a mage."

Anders licked one of his fingers free of juice from the pear. "Like any other man," he said. "You let them earn it."

"I still do not agree with your cause, Mage. I will not delude you."

Anders shrugged. "I didn't ask you to...okay, maybe I did. What you believe is up to you, Fenris, but if I can even change your mind a little about mages in general then I have won."

"It is not a contest."

Anders smirked. "Isn't it?" He set the core down and stared at the other piece of fruit. Fenris handed it to him and Anders took it with just as much glee as he had the first. It was no loss - Fenris preferred apples.

"I have known you for some time, Mage..." Fenris knew he was tumbling into forbidden grounds. But the tidbit of information had been set dangling now and his curiosity seemed to be gaining the upper hand. "You speak little of yourself."

Anders reached for the wine and Fenris handed it to him and then watched him drink. Fenris waited. He would not wrench a story from an unwilling teller. Anders had equally little reason to trust him.

"Speaking of myself only makes my reasons sound petty," Anders said. He set the second pear core aside once he had finished the fruit and then reached for the bread. "People will rally behind a martyr, not a whining man with a grudge. I don't need to speak about myself to find plenty of proof for the cause"

Fenris felt himself twitch in annoyance. He was trying, but he had spent so long instantly brushing aside anything the mage said as complete fallacy, it was hard to think that he might be telling the truth. If Fenris believed Anders about the corruption of the Templars, if he agreed that Tranquility was a crime, or that taking mage children from their families to educate them in the Circle was cruel, would he not be siding with the mages? 

If Chantry and Circle rule was abolished then mages would be free and Fenris knew, without a doubt, that there were more than enough willing to take their power and abuse it. He refused to see another Imperium where mages were free to use those around them as pawns in their games, where blood magic was practiced freely on the streets, and where a child could be taken and abused in a sick experiment.

Yet, he also did not want a mage child abused. Fenris might dislike mages but he was not so debased. A child - any child - did not deserve such treatment.

He did not know what to think.

"Before I met Justice I never thought about things like this either," Anders said. He took another drink from the bottle before handing it back to Fenris. "I would sooner run away than try to free another mage from the Circle. I actually dove into a stack of hay once to avoid some Templars. That stuff can be bloody sharp! The Warden-Commander thought it was oh so hilarious."

Fenris chuckled. "I find it hard to imagine that you were once a Grey Warden."

"Still am, technically. I'm not sure what their policy on runaways is, yet. I hope it's not like the Circle because I don't fancy being dragged back to Amaranthine for a whipping."

Fenris flinched but did not ask for elaboration. "I did not think the Wardens were an order you could leave so easily."

"I only joined to escape the Templars. I didn't have much of a choice - it was that or hang. I think I chose well, personally. Plus I do look quite dashing in Grey Warden colors. It's not all bad if you can live with the horrifying nightmares, the Deep Roads expeditions and a greatly shortened life span."

"You have led an eventful life," Fenris said. Their varied group was full of figures Fenris would not have sought out on his own - a Dalish witch, a Dwarven storyteller, a Chantry brother, a Guard-Captain - and it was the man the most unlikely with whom Fenris found himself sharing time. Someone who Fenris thought it impossible to have a civil conversation with and, well, here they were.

Anders smiled but none of the light reached his eyes and Fenris noted his loss. "How are you feeling? How is your chest?" Anders asked, struggling for a new subject.

"It is fine. You have been thorough, as usual."

"You really should have just told me. I'm not going to think anything less of you if you ask me to heal you. It's what I do."

"I believe you called me a 'stubborn elf' and a 'pain in your rear'," Fenris said and smirked when he saw a tinge of color to the mage's cheeks.

"Yes, well...that may be true and all but I would prefer you tell me. You scare-- Uhh... I was concerned. Hawke would have my head if I let anything happen to you."

Fenris noted the way the mage could not meet his eyes and the subtle color to his cheeks. He almost scoffed. The mage had been worried about him. For whatever reason the mage was actually concerned with Fenris' wellbeing.

"Mage..." Fenris took a drink from the bottle and then set it aside. "I wish to...touch you."

Anders looked up and his lips quirked, holding back a laugh. "You sure know how to make something sound romantic, Fenris. In fact, right there? Probably better to just snog me - do away with all hmphh\--!" 

Fenris did as he was told.

Anders grabbed him, hands linked behind Fenris' neck, just trying to hold on. Fenris found himself pushing the mage back down against the hardwood floor until he could sit over the mage's thighs and pin him in place. If Anders remembered his previous refusal to let his arse (bare or not) touch the floor, he was not bringing it up.

Fenris pulled the tattered tunic over Anders' head. At least the mage had not put the blood-splattered coat back on after his bath. Sure enough, the mage smelled like clean soap rather than his usual scent of pine and Elfroot. Fenris leaned closer and inhaled and found he mourned the loss of the familiar scent. He looked up and found Anders just staring at him.

"Have I done something you are uncomfortable with?" he asked and Anders shook his head.

"No, I just-- I wasn't expecting-- Just, never mind. Don't get prickly on me, you've done nothing wrong." 

Anders reached out but Fenris grabbed the mage's hand before it could touch his hair. "Mage...if I ask something of you, would you agree?"

"That's a little hard to answer, Fenris. I don't know what it is. You could be asking me to wrap myself in a bow and hand myself to Meredith for all I know."

Fenris growled, feeling the anger rip from him unbidden at the thought of the mage turning himself over. It did not sit well with him. He did not want to hear of the mage being taken into Templar custody. The mage would not be spared from a cruel punishment. "I am not in the habit of making unreasonable demands. However, if you agree then you must stand by your vow. I will not have you breaking your word."

Anders sighed and then nodded. "Ask then and let me hear what it is."

It was hard to ask for something. It was not in Fenris' nature. He wanted - he wanted many things - but asking for them was difficult. His body and mind fought the desire, trying to force it down and away. If he had no desires he could not feel the lack of reward. Fenris found he had to look away, staring at the dip at the base of the mage's throat. "I would ask you not to touch me. For now. You will keep your hands above your head."

"What about other body parts?" Anders asked with a grin. A grin that slid away when Fenris glared at him. "All right, all right. Hands above my head. Got it."

"I would have your word."

Anders was silent for a moment and Fenris knew the mage was considering the offer. The mage may be many things and have many failings but he did not give his word lightly and he did not offer what he did not mean to give. 

"You have my word, Fenris," Anders said. "But if I tell you to stop...then you stop."

"I do not intend to harm you."

"No, I don't suppose you do, but still. If I say stop--"

"I will stop, you have my word." Fenris leaned forward experimentally and was pleased when Anders did not rise to meet him. He placed a kiss on the mage's lips and pulled away before Anders could take more. "Though I do remember a comment about your 'bare arse' not wanting to touch my cold floor. I have yet to purchase a rug and my floor shall be better for you off it."

Anders blinked once and then again in quick succession. "Is that a joke?"

"It has been known to happen," Fenris said and moved off the mage to stand. Anders eagerly followed and flung himself onto the bed, happily rolling like a well-fed cat.

"If only I had a bed so nice," he said. The mage's smile faltered. "Of course, my wants are not so important."

"Your spirit speaks through you," Fenris replied. "Yet he allows you to come here. To eat and to drink in my company."

"You...silence him. The closer I get to you, the quieter Justice is. We are one, but I know when Justice's influence colors my thoughts. When I'm around you, he sort of, well, I guess it must be all the lyrium because I could swear he was drunk. If a Fade spirit can get drunk. He is quiet and sated."

"Hm." Fenris could not offer more. He truly disliked the knowledge of the mage's possession. No good could come of such a thing despite the mage's insistence that Justice was no demon. He took Anders' hands and moved his arms above his head and gave the mage a pointed look to remain in place. Anders just grinned at him, looking far too smug.

Fenris didn't understand want or desire. He knew he wanted to touch the mage. He knew he desired to see the mage writhe beneath him. But he did not understand why he wanted such a thing. To remove the smirk from the mage's face, perhaps? To even their encounters so that Anders was not taking charge, maybe? Fenris couldn't deny certain...lust...for wanting to overpower the mage.

It was the lust for such a thing that had him bury his hand in Anders' hair and tip the mage's head back so that his throat was fully exposed. Fenris leaned down and tasted the clean skin of the mage's pale neck. Blonde hair stuck to the mage's throat, damp from his bath, and Fenris pushed it away and nipped at the skin. 

It was new. Fenris had not had another beneath him like this. In his fantasies it had always been Hawke until the person became faceless, genderless...until the person became the mage. While their actual encounters were few, Fenris had plenty of time to himself with just his imagination. He had only ever done this with the mage - it was logical the man would take the place in his mind.

Anders gasped as Fenris bit at the flesh of his shoulder. There would be a bruise there tomorrow providing the mage did not heal himself. Fenris wanted to demand it of him, but kept the thought to himself.

In the weeks since they had started these trysts Fenris had learnt much. He absorbed lessons quickly and while the mage did not mean to teach, Fenris had taken in all the mage had done to his body. Fenris remembered how the mage had sucked and nibbled flesh, where he moved his hands, how much pressure to apply to certain areas. Fenris had been sufficiently lacking in any skill beyond accepting pain before all of this.

And he applied the lessons well. He pressed his thumbs into the spaces just above the mage's hip bones and held him down as he laved attention over Anders' skin. Anders was unashamedly vocal and when Fenris found a spot the mage enjoyed it was resoundingly clear. 

"Fenris! Oh, Maker...!" The muscles in Anders' abdomen all contracted as Fenris raked his teeth over the spot just south of the mage's navel. Anders' hands were wrapped double into the blanket and his arms were shaking. "You will be the death of me, bloody elf!"

Fenris smirked. "Oh? Shall I draw out this death, then?" His voice was more certain than he felt. The mage's reaction was positive reward in itself but it did not make the unfamiliar ground any less unsettling.

"I shall be your entirely willing prisoner," Anders answered as he tried to buck his hips up. Fenris dug his thumbs deeper into the flesh of the mage's hips and Anders hissed and then whined something that Fenris did not understand.

Fenris unlaced the mage's trousers and pulled them open. He could feel the hair on the mage's stomach rough against his cheek and he couldn't help turn his head slightly and rub against it. Anders tried to move his hips again and Fenris shook his head. "You will remain still," he said without lifting his head.

"A little bloody hard! I'm trying, it all be damned."

Fenris moved lower and was presented with the bulge of the man's cock before him. With some attention it would strain against the mage's trousers and dampen his smallclothes. Fenris felt his lips twitch into a smile. 

Fenris kept his hands on Anders' hips and instead moved his lips along the outline of the man's length. Anders was bigger than Fenris in every regard. The man had a substantial member. The tips of Fenris' ears flushed with color at the realization. Yes, he had seen the man naked but he had not been in such close...contact...before. He heard Anders whine under him and Fenris could feel the blankets being twisted and pulled.

There was disturbingly little preparation one could do before such an act, Fenris found. He only had his history with Danarius (which was not pleasurable), and his experiences with Anders (which, so far, had been pleasurable) to guide his actions. 

Fenris followed the line of Anders' cock with his lips until he found the tip. He pulled the thin trousers away and touched his lips to the head of the man's cock through his smalls. Anders whole body jumped and arched and Fenris mouthed around the head, seeking the same reaction. Anders groaned and Fenris was sure he would break his vow as he heard the mage's arms move but then fall back against the bed and grab the blankets again, pulling them harder.

Danarius had not often made him perform such an act. He had preferred his 'little wolf's' teeth a safe distance from sensitive areas. Fenris was grateful. He moved one hand from the mage's hip and ran it up the inside of his leg. The mage's muscles spasmed beneath his hand.

It must have been some time for the mage. Had he taken himself to hand since the first night on his clinic floor? Anders was shivering with want and Fenris could not make out half of what the mage said. 

Fenris pulled back and sat upright. Anders' fingers were white as he clenched the blankets in his fists. His mouth was held open, slackened with a moan of need when Fenris moved away. He looked just as Fenris wanted; willing and compliant, begging for more. Begging him for more. Fenris leant down and kissed Anders. The mage eagerly met his lips, sliding his tongue forward for a hungry kiss and whined when Fenris pulled back.

"I want..." Fenris had to swallow hard as his voice thinned and failed him. "I want to watch. Bring yourself to completion. For me."

Anders could not have moved faster. He almost unseated Fenris from his legs with his haste to push down his smallclothes. Anders' cock bounced free and the mage took himself in hand. 

Fenris moved so that he could sit between the mage's spread legs, just near his ankles. He ran his hand up the bare inside of Anders' thigh and received a spluttered curse in response. Anders' muscles were bunched taught as he pushed his hips from the bed.

Seeing the mage pleasure himself sent sparks through Fenris. He watched as Anders moved his hand a couple times, only to pull it away and up to his mouth. Anders ran his tongue along the palm of his hand to coat it in saliva and then took his length back in hand. His back arched and Fenris stared, watching the way the mage's hand moved around himself; the way the delicate foreskin would slide and shift, the throb of the pronounced vein and the way the mage's thumb pressed against its line.

Fenris reached down and pressed his palm to his own groin, felt the hardness there but otherwise ignored his body.

With another hoarse cry Anders thrust his hips up and Fenris ran his hand along the line of the mage's thigh. He couldn't deny that Anders looked beautiful like this; with flushed skin and tensed muscles shining with sweat, the mage made an enticing sight. 

Fenris squeezed Anders' ankle and slid his hand up his calf to the rolled down trousers. "Come for me, Mage..."

Anders was not trained but this time he obeyed. A strangled cry ripped from his lips and he thrust up into the circle of his fist. Fenris tightened his hold on the mage's calf, rubbing his thumb in some sort of comforting pattern. Somewhere in the mage's moans, Fenris was sure he heard his own name. Fenris watched as the mage's seed spilled over his hand and splattered up onto his bare stomach, landing on the line of rust colored hair.

"Maker... Oh, M-Maker, I..." Anders flopped back, boneless. "I haven't... For so long!"

Fenris slipped off the bed and found a rag that he deemed clean enough for the task. He dunked the rag in the tepid bath water and wrung it out. At least it would not be freezing against the mage's heated skin. Fenris adjusted himself in his leggings and ignored the rush of sensation. He knelt between the mage's feet and dropped the cloth on his chest.

"Clean. Or it will be unpleasant."

Anders looked up, eyes opening no more than a slit. He scowled and dragged the damp cloth off his skin. "Just gimme... Just a minute, Fen..." 

Fenris couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. He watched the exaggerated rise and fall of the mage's chest until Anders felt able to move and clean himself up.

The mage kicked away his trousers and Fenris rolled onto the other side of the bed. 

"You will stay here," Fenris said.

"You continue to make demands of my time."

"...yes."

Anders scooted up the bed and flopped onto his side, cradling the pillow under his head. He was going nowhere fast. "I should be upset...but you do something that good to me and my anger loses its edge."

Fenris chuckled. He stripped his jerkin off and lay back. He could have bathed or eaten but it all seemed like excessive effort. Instead he rolled over, facing away from the mage, and felt his eyes close. 

"Fenris...?"

He did not expect much peace. "Yes, Mage?"

"Can I touch you yet?"

Fenris stared at the blanket. He felt humor well inside him at the mage's almost pleading tone, the slight whine in the voice. Anders wanted to cuddle. It seemed fitting. "You may," he said and he heard Anders sigh in relief.

The mage shuffled closer and pressed himself flush against Fenris' back. Fenris could feel every inch of the man against him and he pressed back just a little. Anders grabbed the abused blanket and pulled it over them before clutching at Fenris around the waist.

Ridiculous, delicate mage. Fenris could not refuse him. After all, he asked for so little.


	9. Chapter 9

Fenris watched the mage leafing through pages of his manifesto and then flick through books desperately. "What are you looking for?"

Anders slammed the book shut. "I... I'm not sure." He shook his head. "We shouldn't discuss it. I'm waiting for Hawke."

"And Hawke is not here."

"No. She’s not."

Fenris heard the twinge of sadness. He stepped closer and placed his hand on the desk near the book the mage touched. "Then you shall talk to me."

"This is not something you will stand to hear or try to understand. Trust me this once. I really don't want to argue with you."

"I want no argument, but this has angered you."

"Of course it has!" Anders snapped. He gritted his teeth and Fenris waited patiently.

Whatever peace they had come to was tentative at best. They snapped at each other while with Hawke - most of the rogue's quests dividing them - but put their differences aside when alone. It was the only way to move forward and, for whatever reason, Fenris enjoyed the man's company. He craved it when alone.

Fenris honestly wished he had more time to spend with his newly discovered compatriot. A few caught hours between quests and duties seemed a pale reward for their hard work.

"There is a Templar... Ser Alrik." Anders just about spat the name, like the sound of it alone was filthy. "There are rumors; okay they are more than rumors... He wishes to make every mage in Thedas Tranquil. He calls it his 'Tranquil Solution'."

"Such a thing would not occur."

"Yet more and more Tranquil show up in the Gallows, peddling their wares. Mages that I know passed their Harrowing!"

Fenris watched the mage's face and the flexing of his hand on the leather cover of the book. If the man was lying then Fenris would know. But Anders' agitation was real. "I cannot believe that such an act would be sanctioned. If he has done this, then there must be reason--"

"They're not _blood mages_ , if that's what you're thinking," Anders said and sneered at the elf.

"You are determined to fight me."

"No, I'm not. But I know what you're going to say! That's why I asked Hawke. I need her help to find proof of Sir Alrik's plan. The Grand Cleric will not be able to deny involvement! Everyone shall know of the injustice that operates within the Circles."

Fenris placed his hand over Anders' and the mage snapped his head up and took a deep breath. The blue cracks of the Fade that had begun to appear over the mage's body closed and disappeared and Anders slumped. Fenris removed his hand but Anders followed it, stepping closer until he could press his nose to the elf's ear, inhaling against his hair. Fenris tensed. He knew the lyrium in his skin satisfied Anders' demon but it didn't mean he enjoyed being used in such a way.

However it did seem to make the mage far more agreeable and companionable.

Fenris placed an awkward arm around the mage and pulled him closer. He wasn't sure what to call this anymore. The mage still did not come to him or seek his company, but neither did he turn down an offer. Fenris indulged the mage with conversation and food and let Anders sleep in his bed, pressed close throughout the night. It was by no means a regular occurrence but that it had happened more than once meant it significant in Fenris' solitary life.

When the man was talking about things other than his mage cause and with his demon tempered, Fenris found him to be an intelligent and witty companion. Though he would never say as much.

Anders never questioned Fenris' interest and accepted eagerly when he showed up at the clinic or invited the mage to his Hightown manor. The mage _spoke_ to him; not complained, not whined, actually spoke tales of his days as a Grey Warden, how he had come to Kirkwall, stories from his time in the Circle and his lessons. Fenris listened. Nothing dark had ever surfaced. Fenris had felt it lurking but, for now, he was happy to listen to the mage's tales without delving in deeper than either of them wanted.

Fenris knew this was a step into those depths.

"There is a tunnel under the Gallows... I can sneak in, but not alone. But I can't wait for Hawke anymore."

"She has been busy. We have been with her."

"I know, I know, the Qunari. But how many more mages will be made Tranquil in the time we wait?" Anders pulled away and rubbed his arm through his jacket, as if trying to coax back warmth. "I'm going tonight."

Fenris scoffed. "You would go alone? I didn't think you wished Tranquility upon yourself so fiercely."

"I can't wait any longer!"

"Then we shall go. Hawke is not required."

"...what?" Anders was staring at him, mouth slightly agape. Fenris wanted to reach forward and close his jaw.

"If you are convinced, then we shall go. I am convinced that there is reason for this Knight's actions. We shall see who is right."

"This isn't a game! Mages are being made Tranquil! Good men and women who--"

"Then we shall find your proof," Fenris cut in, "if it is to be found."

He said nothing more to Anders, leaving the mage with his confusion. Fenris did not see the harm. If the mage wanted to go on a wild chase then Fenris would accompany him, if only to prove to him that all this was in his head. Anders had been distracted recently and Fenris was eager to put the matter to rest.

When he returned later in the evening with Varric and Sebastian, Anders glared and said nothing. Convincing both the dwarf and the Prince had been no difficult task. Varric had come along purely interested by _Fenris_ assisting _Anders_ , and the Prince would not stand to hear a slight against the Chantry and Cleric. Sebastian either wanted to find the Templar that would so abuse his power or force the mage to admit his fault.

"It does sound hard to believe that the Grand Cleric would agree to make all the mages Tranquil. I don't know about you, but mages can be a handy bunch to have around," Varric said to Sebastian.

The Prince huffed. "It is a crazy accusation. But if this Knight works alone, he will be brought to justice."

"Justice is right..." Anders said under his breath. He shoved health and stamina potions into his pouches and Fenris saw him pocket two lyrium potions close to his heart.

"You still insist on going through with this?" Fenris asked and Anders looked up and scowled at him.

"Of course I do. But, Sebastian? _Sebastian_? Why him? Of all people, Fenris! If I dared to joke about such a thing I would say I almost prefer to be made Tranquil."

"But you do not jest on such matters," Fenris countered. "Should any Knight be corrupt, the Prince shall ensure justice is done."

"Or cover it up... All right, let's go!"

Fenris had to admit that it was strange to leave without Hawke in their party. They did not do these things without Hawke. Many of them did not even contact each other outside of Hawke's influence. Fenris rarely saw the dwarf unless they were together at the Hanged Man for cards and Fenris did not often venture to the Chantry and had few dealings with Sebastian.

The whole dynamic had been altered. Anders stalked ahead of them, anger thudding through each footfall. Fenris followed next with the Prince at his side, but they said nothing. Varric brought up the rear and offered the only conversation, commenting on things they passed or the state of the tunnels that had once been used to supply the Templars with lyrium.

But when they encountered danger, Fenris found the group moving behind him. As the only warrior he stood between the slavers and his party. Anders fell behind him when the first arrow was released, bringing a shield around himself and Fenris. Varric vanished through a hiss of smoke and Fenris heard the release of his crossbow from somewhere behind them. Sebastian brought down a rain of arrows from their right and as the last fell, Fenris rushed forward. His body lit up, a lantern in the dark, as he rushed the slaver party. He wrenched the heart from the first body and brought his sword through the next. Fenris felt his skin prickle with energy as a bolt of lightning seared past him and struck another slaver. The man convulsed and burned from within, lightning jumping from his body to another man, metal plate acting as an excellent conductor.

"Wrong day to get in my way!"  Anders snarled and Fenris smirked and brought the last man down. Without Hawke they still made a coherent and bloodthirsty team.

The tunnels were a familiar, winding maze through caverns and mining shafts. Several pathways had been blocked by falling debris but a clear path had been eked through the rock.

"No... Please... I haven't done anything wrong!"

"That's a lie. What do we do to mages who lie?"

Fenris stopped beside the mage. Anders shone in the darkness, a blue fire, until he clamped it down and shook his head.

"This is their place..." Anders muttered to himself and Fenris frowned. Should the mage not be looking for any excuse to destroy his most hated enemy? He had no reason to defend the Templars or their duties.

"So you admit your attempted escape... You know what happens to mage girls who don't toe the line around here, don't you?"

The girl dropped to her knees, begging now. Fenris bared his teeth. This Templar must be Ser Alrik. He intended to make the girl Tranquil, as Anders had said. But she had run from the Circle. Was it not the Templars place to corral a runaway mage? Was it not their place to ensure that a mage did not become a danger to themselves or others?

He looked at Anders. The mage pulled his staff from the sling on his back but it was Sebastian who stepped forward.

"Ye intend to make her Tranquil? The Chantry does not look favorably on a Knight who would take such...advantage...of their charge in this way," Sebastian said. "Chantry law forbids turning a Harrowed mage Tranquil, as ye well should know."

"What is this?" Ser Alrik asked, turning to face them.

Fenris felt Justice emerging before the spirit wormed its way through the mage's body. Deep rifts of the Fade cracked the mage's flesh and Fenris reached out too late. He doubted he would have been able to hold Justice back.

He didn't know that he wanted to.

"You fiends shall never touch a mage again!"

Fenris shifted and phased out of corporeality as he rushed forward, sword drawn. The Templars surged towards them. The battle was bloody and ugly. Templars were trained and disciplined and skilled at opposing mages; these Templars had not expected a demon of the Fade and a lyrium ghost. Fenris caught one Templar that rushed the mage, grasping the man's helmet-clad head and phasing his hand straight through the Knight's brain. A Knight that charged towards him was felled with a crossbow bolt through the chest.

If Hawke had been there she would have prodded the Templars, verbally sparring with them for her own amusement and when the battle began she would have narrated the entire fight, counting victims and joking with the dwarf. This battle was mostly silent aside from the grunting of effort and pained cries of those brought down.

It was Fenris who came face to face with Alrik. The man lashed out with his sword and Fenris let it pass through his ghostly form. He might have spared the man, might have let Sebastian take him to his judgment, if not for the very clear indication of what the Knight had been doing with the Tranquil mages. Fenris needed no guilt-ridden plea. He knew the sick, the depraved. He knew how to read between the lines of a few words and a quirked lip. At the man's own admission a Tranquil mage would do all he asked, and Fenris needed to hear no more. He plunged his hand into Alrik's chest and grasped the man's heart. Alrik gasped and stared at Fenris as if seeing a true Abomination for the first time. Fenris was glad to crush his heart.

"I shall have every last Templar!" Justice bellowed.

Fenris pulled his hand, and the Knight's heart, free and Alrik's body slumped to the ground. Fenris sneered and dropped the organ at his feet. "Anders!"

It was Varric, not the mage, who stared at him.

"It is over, Mage. The man is dead."

"They shall all know the meaning of justice!"

The mage girl cowered, holding her hands up. She had pressed herself up against the wall. "Stay away from me, demon!"

Justice towered over the girl. "I am no demon! Are you one of them?"

Fenris stepped forward into the line of sight. "This girl is a mage. We have rescued her."

"I can feel their hold on her!"

"Broody is right, Blondie. We came here to rescue her. You're not going to hurt her now!" Varric said from behind them.

"Please don't hurt me!"

Justice raised his hand and Fenris looked away, feeling his throat clench closed. But the light faded and Fenris felt the spirit recede.

Anders dropped to his knees, clutching at his head.

Fenris turned to the girl. Her body shook with fear.

"Leave." He could see this returning to haunt him. "Leave Kirkwall. You will not be safe here."

"She should return to the Circle," Sebastian said and Fenris huffed.

"You would send a daughter of yours to return?" Fenris asked and Sebastian fell silent save for a quiet recitation of the Chant under his breath.

"Thank you, Ser! Andraste herself must have brought you here," the mage girl said and then turned and ran.

Somehow, Fenris doubted the Maker or his Bride had anything to do with his involvement.

Fenris carefully knelt beside Anders. He didn't touch the mage. He could see Anders' shoulders and hands shaking. "The girl is safe."

"But I-- I almost--!  Maker, I almost--." Anders dragged himself to his feet and Fenris matched his every move. "I have to... I have to go."

Anders fled and Fenris caught himself before he could reach out for the mage. Anders would need time. He had let his demon get the better of him, despite all his insistences. There were no 'good' spirits - only demons.

"Someone should go after him," Varric said and gave Fenris a pointed look.

"The mage has a bed of his own making," Fenris said. He turned back to Ser Alrik's body. If there was any evidence of this 'Tranquil Solution' then the man might carry it on his person.

"Leaving him while he's in that sort of a mood probably isn't the best. Blondie can get a little over emotional about the best of things and I've never seen him like this."

"If you are worried then see to him."

Varric hummed. "Well, see I don't think I'm the person he wants to see right now, Broody."

"Your machinations are blundering and obvious, Dwarf."

Varric knelt next to him and then shrugged. "I didn't think I needed to be subtle."

Fenris chose to ignore him. "Assist me." He held out two folded pieces of parchment. "I require you to...read these."

It took a moment and Varric stared at him. Fenris could almost see the dwarf's mind working. But Varric took both pieces of parchment and Fenris continued to the Templar's other pouch.

"Looks like Blondie was right."

"Never!  Such a thing would not be granted!" Sebastian said.

"It wasn't. Ser Alrik sent copies of his plan to Meredith and, for the love of--! He sent his proposal to the Divine. They both rejected the proposal. Seems that Ser Alrik here was acting alone until he could convince someone that he wasn't completely insane."

Sebastian shook his head and folded his hands in front of him in prayer. "How many mages did he make Tranquil, I ask?"

Fenris stepped away from the body of the Templar. Anders needed to see these papers. The mage had been right - Ser Alrik was turning Harrowed mages Tranquil and he intended to turn every mage in Thedas into a mindless slave. Slaves that he could bid as he willed. "Slaves are desired not just in Tevinter," he said. "The depravity of man is widespread."

Of man. 

Not just mage.

"You should take these and show Blondie. He's probably pulling out all that pretty hair as we speak." Varric held the parchment pages out to Fenris, who snapped them up angrily.

"He will take my presence as...gloating."

Varric smiled. That annoying, all-knowing smile that Fenris was beginning to hate. "You never know until you find out. Besides, who else is going to go?"

"Anyone but me." 

"Really?  He won't listen to me and he would sooner strangle Sebastian," Varric said and Sebastian had enough grace to look insulted. "The only one he would listen to is Hawke...and she's not here."

Fenris heard the touch of sadness and disappointment in Varric's tone. Hawke had let Anders down - the mage had needed her and she had not come. It was uncharacteristic.

"I shall go," Fenris finally agreed. The mage would not take his being there well, but he might listen.

When they returned to Darktown, Fenris parted ways and headed across the Commons to the mage's clinic. The lanterns were out and the doors closed but that had never stopped Fenris before. He phased his hand through the wood and unlatched the door. He didn't like to do it - the feeling was not pleasant.

Anders knelt at the back of the room, his back to the doors. He was rifling through a trunk and throwing things into a growing pile next to him. A smaller pile was on his other side but he didn't add to it nearly as often.

"Mage." 

Anders paused and perked but didn't turn and quickly returned to what he was doing. Fenris heard his mutterings and it became obvious the mage was meaning to leave Kirkwall.

"Mage, you were correct."

That made him stop . Anders looked over his shoulder and Fenris felt his chest clench. The mage's eyes were red and puffy with tears, his cheeks flushed. Fenris knew that shouldn't affect him as much as it did.

Fenris found it hard to believe the mage would do anything purely for power. Anders didn't speak of his demon or the pact he made but Fenris could not believe the mage had joined with Justice for anything less than what he thought to be honorable reasons. And now that decision was destroying him.

The mage did not deserve it, but life rarely dealt hands that one deserved.

Fenris held out the parchment and Anders stood and snapped them up. Fenris waited as the mage scanned the documents.

"They rejected his plan...? This is...not what I expected. Perhaps I should try talking to the Grand Cleric? Maybe she's more reasonable than I thought."

"Then you will stop throwing away your things and calm down."

Anders stared at him. "You have no idea! You should be happy - everything you said is true. I am a monster. Justice is... He isn't... I don't know!" Anders threw his hands up and turned away. "He is something unnatural. He's become twisted by my rage. How can I fight for the freedom of mages when I am an example of the worst that freedom brings?"

"The girl was not harmed. Despite your demon."

"For now.  But how long before I harm another? How long can I resist until I fall to his fury? No...I need to be away from here. Go where I can't hurt anyone."

"Then you would abandon your cause?" Fenris did not push. He waited for an answer; he waited for Anders' feelings to even out as he thought. The mage might generally be emotional but Fenris knew he had a logical side that would not allow him to be overcome.

Anders finally turned and looked at him. "No, I cannot abandon the cause. These mages... They need me. But please, I don't expect you to be here. Our paths diverge too greatly on this matter. I can't imagine what possessed you to come here in the first place."

"I know what it is to become a monster," Fenris said. He held up his hand, his gauntlet still stained red with drying blood that oozed between plates of metal.

"And how do I cope? I am a healer. I am meant to save lives, not take them! That girl...she was an innocent and yet I would have killed her!"

"The demon would have killed her. You did not."

"I... I heard your voice. Varric's voice. Telling me to stop and I knew what Justice was doing was wrong. But it was so hard to stop him. I don't know if I could again. Without you there it would have been too late."

"Maybe it is time to realize your limitations."

Anders scoffed. "Yes, that's right, kick me when I'm down. You've always been right, after all. I suppose that pleases you."

"It was a suggestion, not a condemnation." Fenris stepped forward and his brands hummed a slow rhythm through his skin. Anders turned, leaning towards him like a flower to the sun. "This does not please me," Fenris continued. "Would you not accept my sympathies?"

"I don't need your pity."

"Pity from the pitiful brings no shame, Mage."

Anders stared at him, clearly at odds. The mage closed his eyes and then fell forward into Fenris' arms, letting the elf hold him as he listened to the lyrium song. The demon would be sated and would give Anders peace. It was a bizarre, curious situation where Fenris would be the one to comfort the mage through this time. Hawke should be here, not him. But...would Hawke be here, holding Anders in her arms? Would she let him cry on her shoulder as Fenris was allowing?

Hawke was not here. She had not come. Fenris frowned. This had been important to the mage - important enough that he would risk himself by going to the Gallows alone - and Hawke had not come.

Fenris raised his hand and placed it awkwardly on the back of the mage's head to touch his hair. The dwarf had been incorrect - Anders had not pulled out any of his pretty hair. Fenris stroked his hand over the mage's hair and Anders nestled closer, his face pressed to Fenris' neck.

Anders was starved for attention. Any sign of approval, of affection, and Anders would gravitate. Fenris identified the signs of his former life as a slave when he had craved the smallest sign of affection from his Master. Danarius had abused him, turned his slave into a bloodthirsty monster, and yet Fenris had crawled after him on his knees and begged Danarius to use him, as if taking and using Fenris' body meant his Master wanted him.

Fenris sighed; just a quiet huff of air. "The Templars raped you." It was less of a question, more a statement of fact.

Anders stiffened in his arms but Fenris did not release him. "Is it rape should I have asked for it?" Anders asked. His voice was muffled against Fenris' skin.

"Yes."

A Templar was supposed to protect his charges. They were placed to protect a mage from their own nature and the dangers of the Fade. Should a mage become an Abomination, a Templar would deal the killing blow. But not with glee or want for the act. The Templars held power over the mages and it was perhaps an obvious conclusion that a mage should fear his guard.

"You offered yourself out of fear to someone who was supposed to protect, not abuse," Fenris continued.

Anders pulled away to arm's length but couldn't raise his head to look Fenris in the eyes. "I knew what I was doing. I even had a reputation." He laughed; an empty, horrible sound. "It took me a long time to overcome the impulses. I was so accustomed to a Templar ruling me... It was much easier to play along. If you struggled or fought back..."

Fenris didn't think he wanted to know what happened to those mages. He had ideas enough.

"I traded myself for favors, for an extended leash. The Templars that....liked me...kept me safe from others. I was a pet to them; a sweet, willing mage boy that would drop to his knees behind a curtain or inside a closet. It started so young I never knew better."

"This is why you help me with my...problem," Fenris said.

Anders nodded. "You know what it is like to be a monster. I know what it is like to be a trained pet."

They had these things in common. Hawke had been right. Fenris had never wanted to see it; he saw a mage, an Abomination who would create the next Imperium. He did not want to recognize himself in the mage. But Anders was not like them - he was no Magister. Fenris did not think the mages should be free, nor did he think the Templar Order should be done away with, but from listening to Anders he did not think the mage meant for such a thing either. Anders wanted the freedom of mages like the freedom granted to any other man, but he knew the place of the Templars and knew their purpose.

But how many had abused their coveted position of power over a mage?

"Do you have anything to drink?" Fenris asked and the mage shook his head. "Then we shall return to my manor. If you would give me your company."

Fenris saw the small smile on Anders' lips. It was a start. At least the ridiculous notion of leaving Kirkwall was far from the man's mind.

He walked the mage to Hightown. They were silent and thankfully undisturbed by the usual raiders that crawled the streets. Fenris did not even think to worry about Hawke or the pirate spotting the mage entering his home. It was no longer a concern. He would tell Hawke that the mage had returned to his house as he needed company and Hawke had not offered her time. She obviously felt she could choose whom she helped these days.

After setting the mage up with a glass of wine and a basket of fruit, Fenris lit the fire and took a seat next to the man. Anders was watching him with curious eyes, following each of Fenris' movements.

"You're quite the gracious host," Anders said when the elf sat beside him.

"I have had many years experience. Danarius enjoyed having me serve his guests - I intimidated them."

"I can see why," Anders said and then sipped at his wine.

Having a glass to drink from was a strange luxury. Fenris had spent so long drinking straight from the bottles he brought up from the cellar. Buying the glasses had been an unusual extravagance. A trader had a set straight from Orlais, made from fine, etched glass. The merchant had been obviously surprised when Fenris asked of the glasses but was glad for the price Fenris had paid for the set.

The silence was companionable enough. Fenris did not intrude upon it, instead watching the fire as he sipped on his wine. Anders removed his jacket and boots, flinging them aside with little to no regard. The mage helped himself to an apple and some grapes and another glass of wine that Fenris poured when their glasses were empty. Only after the second glass did Anders clear his throat to speak.

"I escaped from the Circle so many times. I'm surprised they never made me Tranquil. I know it was suggested."

"But they did not."

"No," Anders said. "They decided that, while annoying, there was little actual harm I could do. I never hurt anyone and I never used blood magic. It makes healing a little difficult. But I think they were keen to hold onto a Spirit Healer - it's a rare skill. But Spirit Healer's are also more closely connected to the Fade. Our power is not all fireballs and paralysis, it's more...subtle."

"I have always believed the lightning you shoot from your fingers to be very subtle," Fenris said.

"Oh, funny.  The glowy elf talks to me about subtlety," Anders replied but grinned in response and Fenris found that he returned the expression.

"I actually swam across Lake Calenhad during one escape attempt. The Templars caught me and dragged me back over the arse-end of their horse. But how can I be blamed? How can any mage be blamed for wanting to see their family, their friends...to see the sun or feel the rain on their skin.

When the Templars took me my mother screamed at them. She tried to hit one with a pan. Until Father grabbed her and I was bundled off with little more than the clothes on my back. I was twelve. Twelve! A scared little boy who wanted nothing more than to run home to his mommy."

Anders put the glass down and pulled his knees up to his chest. He hugged his arms around his legs and stared into the fire.

"I almost wished I hadn't known them. Some of the other apprentices had been taken so young their parents were nothing more than a distant memory. I still remember what my mother smelled like, how warm her hands were..."

"You have not tried to find her again?" Fenris asked.

"I don't even remember the village I came from. She could be anywhere in the Anderfels. When I was young I always tried to run home but as I got older...I just ran. It didn't matter where as long as I was free."

"It would seem that if you were able to escape on so many occasions the security of the Circle is lacking," Fenris said.

Anders smirked. "I was _very_ good at escaping. I took every opportunity handed to me. It was sometimes months before I found another chance but I waited and the  Templars let their guard down, thinking I'd learnt my lesson. They never made me Tranquil...but they made a point."

"The scars on your back," Fenris said. Again, not a question, just a statement. He had felt the raised scars across Anders' back, seen glimpses of them, and recognized the patterns immediately.

"Whips, brands, anything they could think of to make me behave. After that many escape attempts you would think they'd at least give me credit for trying. The Templars thought that if the punishment was severe enough then I wouldn't try to escape again. It only made me more determined to escape!" Anders took a shuddering breath. "First Enchanter Irving suggested... They..."

"It is too difficult to speak of," Fenris concluded.

Anders shook his head. "No... No, I have to. The First Enchanted suggested the kindest punishment he could think of: solitary confinement." Anders clenched his fingers into the material of his trousers, his knuckles turning white. "It was no kindness. I would have preferred a beating, a stoning! I would have preferred death. A year they left me there. A year! At first it seemed easy - a weak punishment. I thought I should escape as I had done so many times before...

They cut me off from the Fade. I had no contact with anyone except a hand that shoved food and water into my cell. It was dark...and I was alone. It didn't take long for me to crack. I begged them to let me out. Cried and screamed for hours until I had no voice left. Banged on the doors till my hands bled." Anders shrugged his shoulders without releasing his knees. "I still sometimes wonder what was real and what was not. Voices, lights... I don't remember and such large gaps of time are missing. I used to crave the times the Templars came to me. They knew I had been abandoned and I was free for them to take. And...I craved it."

"Fasta vass!"  Fenris swore. "Mage, you never said--"

"Would you have listened? I begged them, Fenris. I called them 'Ser' as they used me and beat me. I did everything they asked, never cried; I was the perfect, willing slave to their desires. And in return I got all the attention I craved."

Fenris narrowed his eyes as he stared at the fire. He felt the rage bubbling inside of him. If a Templar crossed him at this moment he had no doubt he would tear the Knight's heart from his chest, regardless of whether he had abused a mage or not.

He had spent so long hating mages - hating Anders! - that he had refused to see what was right in front of him. Anders had said he had been a slave in the Circle, that it had been his prison...and Fenris had accused him of whining.

Hawke had been absolutely right.

"Anders..."

Anders' head snapped up and he stared at Fenris with wide eyes. It was not every day he heard his name from the elf's lips.

"I...apologize...for my assumptions over the years."

Anders let his lips form a small smile and he gave a slight shake of his head. "Please... I'm pretty sure I have done nothing but bait you since we met. I just... I think you needed to know. All that. It took me a long time to learn that I no longer had to bow to a Templar. It took me even longer to learn that my own desires were important and that sex could be enjoyable." Anders laughed. "Very enjoyable. And that I could give it freely, without selling myself for safety, or company, or feigned affection."

"And you agreed to teach me these things?" Fenris asked.

"Partly, yes.  It's complicated, but basically. I don't crusade for mage rights just because of what I suffered. It's what all mages in the Circle suffer. Even those that are spared live in fear. They don't know freedom because they know nothing except the Circle. It's not their fault they don't revolt against the Templars. They cannot be blamed for their inaction."

"I understand the concept," Fenris said and then drew his mouth into a tight line. As a slave he had never thought of freedom. Slaves did not think of such things. It was only after Danarius had left him that he had his first real taste of a freedom that he had never known. And once he had but a taste he was not so eager to let it go again.

"There are hundreds of girls just like today. They run away from the Templars and are dragged back to be beaten...or raped...or killed for imagined reasons. And everyone just let's it happen because they are scared of the alternative. They all think that mages would take over and--" Anders cut himself off and he looked at Fenris. A slight coloring took his cheeks and the mage slumped. "Sorry. I... Never mind. I just wanted you to know. After today, it seemed important."

Fenris placed his hand on Anders' shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze in place of actual words. He understood.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Something was stirring in Kirkwall. It had always been there, just under the veneer, worming its way out through the cracks. Those cracks had become greats rents in the earth seemingly through which every blood mage, demon and Qunari crawled.

Fenris did only as Hawke bade. He had no reason for more gold - Hawke's adventures kept him well enough paid to afford his base necessities and more. He found himself with enough coin to indulge in fine wine and food, new clothing, and to spend money fixing his mansion as he saw fit. He had a broken window replaced in his bedroom and stocked the kitchen with actual cutlery and earthenware to eat from.

Aveline  had warned him not to make a fuss. After all, he was squatting in a stolen mansion in the middle of Hightown. Fenris was well aware of the rumors. He was particularly fond of the notion that the manor was haunted.

He followed Hawke in what she asked but cared little for the actual struggles. Kirkwall was the place he had been led and that was all. One day, he would move on. Until that time came Kirkwall was as good a place as any.

Fenris had always cared little for his own comfort. The coin Hawke's travels provided him with had sat unused for a long time, growing in amount. Fenris could not have cared if it had been stolen - it had no value to him. Now...it had value. He could see things that coin could be used for. Things that he chose, that he purchased and used for his own benefit. Not something that had been handed to him and he had been forced to utilize.

"You are lurking," Anders said, looking up from his books. They were heavy things that the mage brought with him occasionally. Fenris had peeked through one before but they had no images and he had no clue what they contained.

"I do not lurk," Fenris said. "Do not make me oust you onto the street."

"You would do no such thing!" Anders said. He closed the book and leant back in the chair. "You said it was cold."

"Yes, and you are barely more than skin and bones."

Anders grinned. "Grey Warden metabolism. But I'm sure you have heard of our legendary stamina."

Fenris huffed and turned back to the window. He did not want to admit that he had allowed the mage to bring along his books, he did not want to admit that he had allowed the mage to bring along pages of his damnable manifesto. He did not support the mage in what he was doing...but neither did he condemn the existence of the manifesto. Begrudgingly he had to admit that if the mage was capable of writing such a script it may be worth doing - the Grand Cleric may read a carefully worded document and change might come.

Change came to all things.

Fenris had offered nothing to the mage; he had not asked him to stay or offered to assist him in his fight. But Fenris knew that he did not like to see Anders shivering in the cool morning air, or rubbing feeling back into blue fingertips, so providing a warm room and bed seemed like a small thing to do for someone he had come to...

He frowned. He wasn't sure what he had come to think of Anders. But he knew he did not hate the man and perhaps that was enough.

He looked back over his shoulder at the mage. Anders did not spend a great deal of his time here - no more than he may have previously. Sometimes it was once a week, other times three or four nights where they would eat together and share the warmth the fire granted as the Kirkwall nights grew longer and colder.

There were many other rooms in the manor but Fenris had not explored most and fixing them to a comfortable level would be a chore. The main sleeping quarters were large enough that the mage could write at the desk and not disturb Fenris' carefully planned peace and isolation.

Anders never came to the manor without Fenris - that rule was a certainty.

Fenris was not scared of Hawke's reproach. She knew the mage had been spending time at the manor. She had said nothing when she ran across Anders and Fenris in the Hightown commons, but the look she gave them was words enough. Anders was still not pleased with her and refused to travel with her as her companion unless the situation involved helping mages...and provided Fenris accompany them. He would not stand Hawke's company alone.

It was understandable. Hawke said nothing about her absence when Anders had required her help and the mage never brought up what had happened.

Hawke was selfish. Fenris knew this. She acted for her own benefit even if it seemed to benefit others. Helping a friend with a task ensured that the friendship continued, keeping Hawke with a companion. If she no longer gained from something she did not care for it in the end.

Fenris was not sure why Hawke had decided that Anders was not worth her time. She clearly wished for his company, yet she had not helped him on his quest.

Fenris was not sure when he had decided the mage _was_ worth his time.

The cold was creeping into the room as the fire burned low. Fenris saw Anders shiver. He took the fur blanket from the bed and placed it over the mage's shoulders. "Enough for tonight."

"I'm desperately behind on this--"

Fenris stopped his sentence with a withering look. The mage sighed and put down the quill and capped the inkpot.

"I suppose you're right." He smiled at Fenris - that bright, open smile that Fenris only ever saw when they were alone.

Fenris knew he placated the mage's demon. Justice listened to the 'song' of the lyrium in his skin and fell silent and gave Anders time to truly be himself, not a joining of man and spirit, two personas fighting for control of one thought. Perhaps that was why Fenris saw a side of the mage that he was sure had not existed for many years.

"Would you stay for the night?" Fenris asked. He was getting better at asking. The mage forced him to ask for everything he wanted. For the mundane, for the sexual - Fenris had to ask.

Anders smile brightened. "I wasn't looking forward to walking home in the cold. But only if you want. Is that what you want, Fenris?"

"Yes, Mage.  I do not want you walking home. I..." Asking, however, was not always easy. "I wish for you to stay with me tonight."

"Then I'll stay," Anders said. He pulled the fur blanket around himself tighter. "Thank you."

"I have done nothing for you," Fenris insisted. He did not want any gratitude.

"You've done enough," Anders said. When Anders looked up at him, Fenris had to walk away. He didn't understand gratitude because he didn't understand what he had done for the mage. Yet he couldn't deny the warmth the sentiment sent through him.

Fenris heard the mage's footsteps grow closer and he turned to Anders. The mage grinned and leaned forward. Fenris hadn't asked him, but Anders had a habit of taking what he wanted, and it seemed like what he wanted now was to kiss Fenris. Though a complaint was hard to gather. Fenris tangled his fingers into the mage's hair, pulling the strands free of the hair tie. To kiss Anders he had to lean up, standing on his toes, and the mage pulled him close with arms around his waist and back. At one time, Fenris would have found the mage's height a frustration, but he quite enjoyed pulling Anders down to him, tugging at his hair, pressing his body up against the mage and watching Anders squirm.

Anders breathed out, his breath shuddering. The mage smiled and Fenris could feel it against his lips. Irritating mage... Fenris grabbed Anders' shoulders and turned and shoved him up against the wall. The blanket slipped to their feet and Anders gasped as his back hit the stone. A swell of satisfaction rose up in Fenris as the mage grasped at him, pulling him closer, eager for more. With fingers tight in blonde hair, Fenris tipped the mage's head to the side, exposing the pale neck. When Anders groaned, Fenris felt each flutter of the man's pulse beneath the peachy skin and the elf bit his teeth down. Anders' fingers grasped hard into Fenris' shoulders.

Fenris heard the squeak of the floorboards outside only moments before he heard Hawke's smug laugh.

"Mages aren't so bad when you're on top, huh, Fenris?" Hawke asked.

Fenris growled and glared at Hawke from over his shoulder. Hawke leant against the doorframe, her arms crossed.

He wasn't aware that his anger had lit his brands until he felt Anders' thumbs circling on his shoulders, pressing against the thin fabric of the linen shirt he had purchased for himself. Fenris scowled and looked away from Hawke to where his hands still held Anders - his skin glowed ethereal blue, veins of lyrium bright in the dim room. Fenris let go of Anders, jumping backwards away from the mage, but he was acutely aware of the burning flush to the tips of his ears.

"Locked doors just can't keep you out, Hawke," Anders said, but he couldn't quite keep the bite from his otherwise jovial tone.

"If I let a little thing like a locked door stop me I might never get to see moments like this. Imagine...Fenris and Anders. Now I understand why Anders has been crawling his way out of Darktown so often. Well, convenient for me. Suit up, boys, we've got a job."

Anders pushed himself away from the wall, making all attempts to look natural and unaffected. Instead it was Fenris who turned on Hawke, barely able to suppress his rage. This was his house - as ill-gotten as it was - and he would not suffer his privacy disturbed so brazenly. Fenris could see the very faint tinge to the mage's pale cheeks and Anders was trying his best to straighten his hair while looking nonchalant. Anders' portrayed lack of concern was not anywhere near as convincing as the man obviously thought it was but he made a good show of sitting near the fire and relaxing as if nothing were amiss.

"You break in, in the middle of the night, to insist I follow you to\--"

"The Wounded Coast.  Qunari problems."

"In the middle of the night." 

"Don't look so shocked. There have been some developments..."

"And we are supposed to follow you due to these 'developments'," Anders asked but he didn't turn to look at either of them.

"Actually, you're following me because I told you to," Hawke said. She didn't even see the contemptuous look Anders shot at her - she was too busy looking at Fenris.

"We shall join you shortly," Fenris said. Hawke didn't move and Fenris folded his arms and waited. She was not stupid, she understood that she was meant to wait outside, yet she was unwilling to leave. When neither Fenris nor Anders made to move she sighed and pushed herself to standing.

"I'll wait outside. But don't take long or I'll go ask Aveline and the blood mage," Hawke said and then left, spinning a small knife between her fingers.

Anders barely waited for the front door to slam before he was on his feet. "I can't believe her!" Anders raked his fingers through his hair and started to look for the leather tie.

"She is obviously stressed. Something has happened."

Anders curled his hands into fists. "Of course, because that gives someone a reason to be an insufferable cow. I've seen Darkspawn with better manners than Marian Hawke!"

Fenris bent down and retrieved the small strip of leather that had been dropped at some point over the night. Anders reached for it but Fenris held it back.

"Why aren't you more upset?" Anders asked coupled with an over-exaggerated sigh.

"What is done is done." Fenris stared at the mage, who was trying desperately to hold his hair back with one hand, gesticulating wildly with the other when he spoke. Fenris sighed and shook his head and then reached up and pushed Anders' hair back and tied it in place. The mage just stared, eyes wide, tongue sweeping over his lips to chase dryness brought on by shock.

Fenris, truthfully, was not sure why he was not more upset. He did not like that Hawke had broken into his home, and he did not like that the rogue had seen him and Anders together, but if Hawke required their help he would not abandon her. Hawke could not have known the full extent of the mage's visitations. He now had to hope she would hold his secret.

So they went with her, stealing out of Kirkwall in the middle of the night with Isabela and the dog. They had to avoid a group of Templars but Hawke kept them distracted long enough that Fenris and Isabela could drag Anders away.

It was near dawn before they saw the first points of the ragged cliffs that dotted the Coast's shoreline. Spires of the skeletal ships wrecked upon the rocks towered into the fog, ghostly shapes that appeared with the new light. Anders squinted and frowned, looking over his shoulder. Dog whined and turned and Hawke stopped.

"Something there?" she asked and Dog barked. His stumpy tail wagged furiously and then he took off down the path, turning and pelting up into the dunes.

Fenris grabbed Anders and shoved the startled mage to the side as a volley of arrows shot towards him.

Anders fell into the sand. "By the Void! Can't walk two steps into this place without being attacked by raiders!"

Hawke pulled her daggers free, staring around them for signs of their attackers. A bolt of arcane energy flashed from behind an outcropping and slammed Hawke to the ground.

"Take the slave alive! Kill the rest."

Fenris growled. So, Danarius had sent another band to capture him.

"You think we're just going to give up our pretty, glowing elf?" Hawke yelled. "Not likely."

"This slave is the property of Magister Danarius. You and your fellows seem...capable...so I will give you the chance to hand over the slave and you may walk free."

Hawke laughed. "Or I could just kill you all."

"I am no slave," Fenris growled out between gritted teeth, his hands tight around the hilt of his greatsword.

"We have no issue with you," the man said. His robes were dark, head covered by a cowl. "Release the slave to us and you will be handsomely rewarded."

Fenris felt his lyrium brands flare as Anders stepped forward. The Fade leeched through the mage's skin and Fenris dug his feet into the ground, forcing himself to stand still.

"Fenris is no slave!" It was Justice who spoke through the mage's body, stepping in front of Fenris and holding up the twisted staff between the slavers and the elf.

"Yet he is protected by a mage. Kill them!"

Fenris launched himself forward, phasing himself straight through the mage's staff, ignoring the discomfort. His body burned as he felt the Fade flow through him. Fenris could taste Elfroot and ozone on the tip of his tongue and he surged forward. The exact movements were lost on him as his body responded to a pure, feral need to survive. He saw blurs of movement, the glint of a sword, felt the tip of an arrow pierce his flesh and bury itself into his arm and he snapped the wood shaft, throwing it away. His hand passed through the ribcage of a slaver and he wrenched the still beating heart free. As he fought there was the ever-present tug of the Fade swirling around him, keeping him alert and on his toes. Fenris only stopped when he had the slaver mage's head in his hands where he could see the white of the man's eyes.

"I am no slave. How did you find me?"

The man was shaking with fear, his hands scrabbling uselessly at Fenris' arms, trying to pull himself free.

"Speak!" Fenris cracked the man's skull back against the rocks. Blood dripped from his hair and landed on the slaver's cheek.

"He isn't going to answer you now. You just scrambled his brains," Hawke said as she wiped her blade on one of the dead.

Fenris howled in anger and slammed the man's head back again. The slaver's eyes rolled back. Fenris did it again, and again, a physical action to the anger he felt, until he found himself tumbling backwards into the sand, stunned. His brands hummed and Anders stood over him before kneeling and Fenris closed his eyes as the familiar smell of healing salves and sun-warmed cotton cut through the stench of death.

"I can heal you. Can you remove the arrowhead?"

Anders' voice was calm but sure. Fenris imagined it was how the healer must speak to irrational patients...or a wild beast. He nodded and succumbed to the pull of the Fade, his body glowing and shifting until he could pass his hand through his flesh and easily remove the arrowhead that had struck with what seemed like pure will alone. As the metal hit the floor he felt a wash of Anders' magic over him, easing through his rent flesh and along sore joints and muscles. Fenris looked up and found Anders smiling at him - that same smile he used when they were alone, bright and uninhibited. Fenris let himself return the smile, small, barely an upwards quirk of his lips, but the mage touched his knee and Fenris felt himself calm.

"Seems our dear slavers are holed up in some caves not far from here," Isabela said. She was holding a piece of parchment along with a fistful of coins she was quickly making disappear down her cleavage.

Fenris scowled and just about shoved Anders away from him in his haste to stand. The mage hardly looked fussed.

"Oh goodie!  Slavers! Because that isn't a complete waste of our time which could be better used solving the actual problem I have," Hawke said.

"Danarius has sent his men. I shall not let them take me. We must go to these caverns," Fenris said. "Hawke...I do not ask much of you--"

"But it's always _something_. Varric and his brother, Merrill and that bloody mirror,  Aveline and her...guard... I mean, Maker! What does a girl have to do to get some damn peace?"

"Not help her friends..." Anders muttered and Fenris was not sure any other than himself had heard.

"C'mon, then!"  Hawke continued with an over exaggerated sigh. "Hopefully if we clear this lot out Danarius will learn he can't just swoop in and try to steal my elf. They better have good loot - how much do you think slavers make, anyway?"

"It seems like a lucrative business if you can get over all the human suffering and complete lack of morals," Isabela said. "I say we divest them of their coin and put it to better use."

Fenris did not wait to hear the end of their banter. He surged ahead, not able to bring himself to holster his weapon. If he held onto it he was ready and they would not take him. They would never take him.

Another warm surge of magic wormed through his body and he flinched but didn't pause. It was not unpleasant. It was not even unwelcome. He turned his head and Anders nodded. Anders, despite being a mage and host to a demon, was a moral man - he did not care for slavers, or blood mages, or even petty injustices. Fenris wasn't sure whether the mage was helping him because he had no love for slavers or because he felt he owed a debt, but Fenris would not turn down his assistance.

They passed into the caverns and Fenris found himself slipping into the blankness that battle brought. A haze where words had no meaning and his eyes saw only his next victim. Discomfort and pain meant little and when a knife pierced his skin it only enflamed his anger.

Fenris' whole life - at least what he could remember of it - had been governed by magic. A Magister had owned him, controlled him, made him do vile, cruel things. Fenris had not known better and his life had not been his own. He had not even blinked when his master used another slave as a blood sacrifice or tore a man apart with magic. He had not condoned it, he had not reviled it - the judgment had not been his to make.

A free man - a truly free man - had those choices. Fenris found himself staring at the mutilated body of an elven man on the table and a strange calm settled over him as though he was seeing this from Danarius' side where he had stood a watchful guard. He felt Anders' cool hand on his arm and he flinched and stayed his hand.

"Are you alright?" Anders asked.

"Mages..." Fenris spat and turned away from Anders. "This is what they sink to. We have them cornered here like scared animals and they use the life of the weak and powerless in an effort to maintain their freedom."

"Blood mages," Anders said. "This is...vile. I would sooner die than do...this."

"Would you?" Fenris asked. "If you were to lose the freedom you so highly regard, would you not--"

"No!" Anders snapped. "I would not. I am no blood mage. I am no monster! I would rather be locked in the Circle. I would rather solitary." Anders shuddered at the words and wrapped his arms around himself, holding his arms by the elbows. Isabela and Hawke were speaking with the slave girl; a mere slip of a thing, thin and weedy with big, scared eyes.

"I know," Fenris said finally and stepped away from the mage.

"Go to Kirkwall to the Amell estate. Ask for Bodahn and tell him I sent you. He'll be able to show you around."

"So you mean to become a slave owner?" Fenris asked. The elven girl cowered and Fenris glared at her.

"It's called a job, Fenris. How else is she going to survive?"

"I-I can cook a little...and mend...and clean very well," the girl insisted.

"Yes, yes, that's fine. Bodahn will find you something to do. Don't mind Fenris, he doesn't like elves working or something."

"That is not it..." Fenris said and then grit his teeth, grinding them together.

Hawke shooed the elven girl away the way they had come and then looked at Fenris. "That poor girl would get eaten alive in Kirkwall. She wants to serve someone - let her. I'm not going to make her call me 'Master' or grovel at my feet. She will have a warm place to sleep and can make some coin. Or I could send her to the Alienage \- after all, Merrill seems to be doing so _well_."

"No..." Fenris looked away. He could not meet Hawke's disapproving gaze. "I misunderstood. Please...forgive me, Hawke."

"You're just lucky I like you, Fenris. You know, you should come by my mansion more often. You've been keeping some...bad company lately."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Anders asked.

"You heard me, Mage," Hawke said and then turned with Isabela to continue down the halls.

"Mage... Hah, never expected Hawke to call me that," Anders said and Fenris could feel every twang of sadness in Anders' tone.

"Hawke is--"

"Stressed? Got a lot on her mind? Come on, Fenris, you're smarter than that. Marian Hawke is out for Marian Hawke and no one else. You're just lucky she hasn't turned on you yet."

"Hawke would not."

"Oh no?  I've know her longer than you have and look where that got me. It's just a matter of time before your problems become more than she wants to deal with, too."

"A slaver did not kill her mother," Fenris said and Anders just shook his head.

"Fenris...you put too much faith in her. You're a free man, and that means you need to look out for yourself sometimes, too."

Fenris watched the mage walk away, following Hawke and Isabela into the next hall. Anders did not know Hawke. Hawke had broken his trust, foolishly, and made no move to restore it, but she had every reason to dislike mages - as much reason as Fenris had. Hawke's father and sister had been mages and kept the family living in secrecy because of it, Hawke paid substantial amounts of money to the Templars to keep her sister safe in the Gallows, and then when no more harm could seem to come from a mage, one killed Hawke's mother in a grizzly act of blood magic. Hawke had every right to deny Anders her assistance in the mage rebellion.

He was lucky she did not end him.

The hallways wound further underground and Fenris followed, staring at Anders' back the entire time. Despite his hatred of mages, Fenris had still helped Anders. He had sat and listened to the mage and comforted him and he had let the mage into his home where he could work on his manifesto in the warmth. Despite his hatred of mages, Fenris had let Anders touch him, hold him, tear needy moans from his throat and bring his body to aching frustration time and time again. Fenris had every reason to cast the mage out, to turn his back on him and ignore his problems and yet...he couldn't. His choice as a free man was to assist a mage.

"Anders--" His words were silenced by a gush of flames that surged toward them. Anders moved his staff and countered with a wall of ice that sucked the moisture from the room. Fenris let the mage step behind him as he rushed forward, sword at the ready.

Hawke and Isabela were pressed to the wall by Shades, trying to avoid sharp claws. It was Isabela who disappeared in a dark cloud and reappeared behind the creatures, taunting them and drawing them away from their leader.

Fenris moved past them, searching for the mage that controlled the demons. Across the room he saw her and he could feel his body burn, an acid that rose inside of him like a geyser, burning through his lyrium brands.

Hadriana. 

She saw him at the same time and her face broke into an expression of pure glee. "Fenris!" she called. "You save me the work of dragging you back here."

"Hadriana!"  Fenris gripped his sword, leather biting into his hands where it had been bound around the grip. He knew it would be her. Of course it would be her. The venomous witch would not pass up an opportunity to please Danarius and she would eagerly look forward to a chance to play with her favored toy.

The woman had tormented him. Badgered his sleep, taken his food, poked and prodded him trying to get a response. She would mark him and bruise him where it would not be visible, always beneath his leathers - Danarius did not mind as long as his prized possession was never severely harmed and as long as Fenris remained a thing of beauty. Visible marks had earned Hadriana the same pain inflicted upon her body and she had learnt fast.

And worse...Hadriana knew of his curse. Fenris scowled. He could see it now, like a sick vision of something that had happened to another. He remembered all the times he had lain, shivering, covered in his own fluids and Hadriana had laughed and petted his hair and wrenched one more orgasm from his quaking form until there was nothing left to give.

Fenris flew at her, sword drawn back. He had no doubt Hadriana would bring him to his knees with the knowledge. She would enjoy it too much to have him brought down, stained with semen and shaking with pleasure that he no more wanted than his return to slavery. He had to end her before such a thing could eventuate.

Hadriana smirked and glowed with arcane energy. She vanished and reappeared behind him and Fenris was struck in the back. His leather burned and melted and he ignored the searing of his skin as he leapt at her. A glancing blow sliced across her arm and Hadriana screamed. Fenris was floored by the hulking form of a Rage demon and Hadriana disappeared. He struggled and rolled away, dragging his sword across the stones. Isabela and Hawke were battling skeletal archers and a new wave of Shades that surrounded them and boxed them in, and Anders? The mage was gone. Fenris whipped his head around and looked for the telltale blonde hair and feathered pauldrons but saw neither, but somewhere he could feel the mage. Anders' magic was different - Fenris didn't know if it was because the man housed a Fade spirit or whether it was because he was a healer, but his magic was not like Hadriana's, or even that of another Circle mage. It was bright and warm and Fenris could feel it on the edge of his perception and that meant that the mage was alive.

"Who are your little friends, Fenris?" Hadriana asked, appearing behind him. She was encased in a swirling sphere of energy that tugged at Fenris' lyrium but remained impenetrable.

"You shall die here," Fenris said, his voice dropping to a harsh growl that scraped his dry throat.

"Master Danarius wants you back, Fenris. He will not stop until his _little wolf_ is returned. He is going to strip the lyrium from your flesh and then watch you die for what you have done," Hadriana said. "So there is no reason I cannot play with you first and all the way back to  Minrathous."

Fenris smirked. Hadriana was wrong. Fenris was too valuable an asset for Danarius to destroy. Not until all other avenues of possibility had been traversed, anyway. Fenris had no doubt that if he was to be returned to Danarius the magister would do everything in his power to restore Fenris to his docile self. "He shall flay you for harming me," he said.

Hadriana laughed. "I am going to kill each one of your friends and then drag you back in chains, naked and cowed. You will beg Master Danarius to kill you and end your suffering."

The heat rose around him and the Rage demon burst forth. Fenris swung his sword and felled it with one neat blow. He heard Hadriana's frustrated cry and another demon crawled forth, biting at his heels, burning his flesh. Fenris could feel the lyrium in his skin humming, his entire body singing, just like Anders had said. He slammed his sword forward and it was knocked from his hands. The greatsword clattered to the floor and skidded across the stones to rest near the wall. He heard someone yell - it might have been Hawke or Isabela, he could not be sure - and he was slammed back to the ground.

When his ears stopped ringing he saw Hadriana hovering over him and he froze, because he knew.

 _"Come for me, my Love,"_ Hadriana spoke, her accent flawed but delivery word perfect. She had practiced the phrase many times. "I shall have you still."

Fenris curled in on himself. Pleasure burned like the fire that had touched him. His skin tingled with the energy from battle, from magic, and the remembered pleasure of just hours before when he had been pressed against Anders, the mage's hair tangled in his fingers.

"Anders..." Fenris moaned the name and he forgot that it was Hadriana crouched over him, forgot that he was surrounded by demons. When he closed his eyes he could forget everything as his body twitched and pulled taut as he came.

"Bitch!" 

Fenris snapped his eyes open and saw Hadriana above him. Her eyes were wide and behind her stood Hawke. The long blade of Hawke's knife was buried in Hadriana's back. Not a killing blow - not yet.

Hawke shoved her sideways and Hadriana slumped to the ground. She cried out in pain and a smear of blood stained the stone floor. Fenris looked on, hovering in delirium, his body twitching and shaking and completely separated from his mind. He could not have moved if he wanted.

"Please do not kill me! I-I can...I can pay you!" Hadriana begged.

"No deal. I'm already pretty rich. Got a whole estate and everything."

"Then..." Hadriana gasped, holding her chest. "Then...information! About Danarius--"

"Don't care about him. He comes to Kirkwall, we kill him."

Hadriana sobbed, her arms clutched around her sides. "Please! I... Fenris! I have information on Fenris! His past...his family?"

Fenris pulled himself up to sitting. He could barely build his strength to push himself up, his arms quivering. "What... What do you know?"

"You have a sister! She's still alive. Please--" She coughed; frothy, pink blood dribbling from her lips. "Please spare me."

"Tell me," Fenris said. Isabela stepped away from him as he stood and let him pass. Hawke's blade whipped forward and pointed at Hadriana, lest she get any ideas.

"Her name is Varania. She works in Minrathous...under Magister Ahriman."

"She is a slave."

"No..." Hadriana groaned in pain, her head bowed. "No, she is a servant."

Fenris knelt next to her, ignoring the quivering of his muscles and the cooling mess that stained his smallclothes - that would be dealt with later. "Does she know of me?"

"Yes...she remembers you."

Fenris' body lit, a blue fire, and Hadriana tried to shuffle away. Fenris grabbed her around the neck and plunged his hand into her chest.

"You-- You promised--"

"I made no deal," Fenris said and tightened his hand on her heart. "You tormented and used me. My only regret is granting you a swift death." He crushed her heart in his hand and saw her eyes bulge and felt her body seize. Fenris pulled his hand free and watched her die. He would not call it glee, what he felt, but there was a certain satisfaction in seeing Hadriana die by his hand.

"Mages... They're all the same," Hawke said. "They think they're going to die and they will beg and any allegiance they had, any morals...gone, just like that. It is a wonder she did not turn into an abomination, bargain with a demon for her life."

"She saw that demon in me," Fenris said. He stood and turned to Hawke. "I thank you...for your assistance."

"I can't say it wasn't a waste of our time, but I suppose some good came out of this. You found out your sister is alive."

"And you seemed to have a pretty good time there on the floor," Isabela said. Her lips broke into a grin. "What was all that about? Was she an old lover?"

Fenris scowled. "She was a poisonous snake that I am glad to be rid of."

"Didn't look so poisonous to me.  I suppose she is sort of pretty," Hawke said and gestured to Hadriana's body. "What was it she said to you?..."

"Hawke--"

Having heard the phrase only once while standing over Hadriana, Hawke's words were clumsy but correct when she found them.

Fenris fell to his knees and doubled over, a hoarse cry wrenched from his body as a wake of stimulation flooded over him. He felt like he was falling and it was only when he felt Isabela's hand in his hair did he realize he had slumped on the floor, face first as his body shook the effects of another crippling climax. He bit his lip, holding back the sob of what felt like every emotion that welled inside of him.

He had been so careful, he had all but begged the mage not to tell and now... Now she knew. Fenris had wanted Hawke; his devotion towards her had been unparalleled in his free life. He did not want her to know he was so weak, that he was nothing more than a trained pet.

Isabela stroked his hair back and smoothed her hands over his skin and Fenris flinched away. His flesh burned, injured from the battle and over-stimulated from orgasm and her touch pained him.

"Oh, sweet thing.  This is just what you needed. Seems like Anders just couldn't give you enough. I should have words with him - he used to be so good!"

"Please..." Fenris moaned and tried to pull away from the pirate. "I don't..."

He heard Hawke kneel next to him, the leather of her armor creaking. She smelled like oil and smoke and blood and Fenris wrinkled his nose.

"I've wanted to see you like this, Fenris," Hawke said. "Izzy's been trying to persuade you to join us...then you started to get mixed up with _Anders_ , of all people! He knows about this, doesn't he? He's been using you and blackmailing you."

"No--" Fenris shied away from Hawke's hands but she grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look up at her.

"We won't hurt you, Fenris. We want you to have a good time, too. Isabela never lets anyone leave unsatisfied." Hawke leaned forward and pressed her lips to Fenris'. Her lips were soft, not at all like the mage's. Anders' lips were chapped and Fenris could always feel the scrape of the man's stubble along his sensitive skin.

Hawke pressed forward and Fenris grasped her shoulder. This is what he had wanted for so long. Hawke was soft, her flesh pliant under his fingers. He heard Isabela's laugh turn to a moan and a complaint about being ignored. Hawke was not swayed - she demanded of Fenris, pressing closer and dragging him under like a storm, a hurricane. She did not ask or encourage, she forced and took from him what she wanted. Right there on the floor of the slaver's den, Hadriana's cooling corpse mere feet from where he lay. Fenris pushed Hawke back, panic swirling and rising in his chest. This was not how this should happen - if Hawke was to be his, this was not the way.

"Hawke, this is not the time."

Hawke pouted and she shoved Fenris back. He didn't resist her force. "I will say when it is the time," she said and Isabela laughed.

"This is rather kinky, Sweet," Isabela said. "I've never had sex surrounded by corpses. Well, except that one time..."

A wicked grin spread across Hawke's face. "You can't deny you enjoy yourself, Fenris. Your body betrays you," she said.

Fenris groaned and tried to cover himself. Despite everything, his body had been easily stimulated by the prospect of that which he could not have. Even two orgasms past and he found himself swelling with interest.

"No more complaints," Hawke said.

Before Fenris could stop her she opened her mouth and the words tumbled from her lips. Words that, if she had meant them, would have meant the world to Fenris. All he wanted was for Hawke to call him such a thing; her love, her only. To love him as a free man. Not as an object, a pet to be used...not as Danarius had loved him.

His body had nothing more to give but it did not stop the tide of pleasure from crashing over him. His body trembled and he cried out, words losing all meaning. He didn't know if he spoke in Tevene or the trade tongue or if his babblings were complete rubbish. His back arched against the cold stone and he heard Hawke laugh. Laughing at him...laughing at how they could use him. He cried out in anguish, his insides freezing.

"No more..." he begged, his voice ragged, stretched thin. His chest heaved for air and he could feel damp tracks down his cheeks through the dirt and blood on his tanned skin.

He couldn't escape - not while they held him like this. Hadriana had used him for hours this way until the pleasure of orgasm had turned to sharp, searing pain, until he had screamed and begged her to stop. Danarius had come to his rescue, stroking his face and telling him how good he had been, how strong, and Hadriana had been sent away to inflict her torture elsewhere until the next time.

Fenris curled himself into a ball. Hadriana was dead. Dead! He had crushed her heart himself.

"You will not touch him!"

Each line of lyrium in his skin sung and yearned for the touch of the Fade as Justice stepped into the room, using Anders' body as a puppet.

"Oh get lost, Justice," Hawke said but Fenris heard her stand and move away. She was no fool - she could not stand against the demon.

"You will not use him as you have done. There is no justice in such an act of cruelty."

"It's just a little fun; something you know nothing about, you great stick in the mud. How about you give the whiny mage his body back."

"You will leave. I shall not end your life, by Anders' will. He would not see you harmed."

Hawke huffed. "Really? Why not? Seems fitting, don't you think, that the last of the Hawke's should be ruined by a mage." Hawke picked up her dagger but slid it into the sheath. "Let's go, Isabela."

Isabela looked at Fenris and he saw her features soften. Had she noticed his anguish and pain? If she had, she had done nothing to end it. The pirate left with Hawke and Fenris felt the cracks in the Fade draw closed and Anders dropped to the ground. The mage was breathing hard, one hand clutching at his head, pale fingers wound into his golden hair. It took him a moment and Fenris was glad for it, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of his heartbeat slowing.

"Fenris..." Anders crawled closer. He dropped his staff to the side and reached out but didn't touch the elf. "What happened...?"

"It is...nothing."

"Andraste's Knickers!  It's not nothing! Hawke was-- She--!" Anders growled in frustration and reached forward again. His cool fingers touched Fenris' skin and Fenris fought back the urge to shake him off.

"I am injured," Fenris said. It was simple. It would give them direction.

Anders nodded. He ran his hands along Fenris' skin and the elf sighed as the magic swam through his veins. His nerves tingled below each area of burnt skin and Fenris reached out and grasped the mage's hand in his own, holding it in place. It felt better than each unwanted climax. The mage did this for him, to heal him and the feeling was unmatched.

"I warned you," Anders said. "Hawke... Maker, I'm so sorry, Fenris. I would never have wanted her to know!" He smoothed his hand over Fenris' hair, pushing it back from his dirty face.

"I require your assistance to return to Kirkwall."

Anders pulled his hands away and Fenris heard him fiddling with his water skin. The cap dropped to the ground and there was a splash of water on the stone. Fenris didn't open his eyes as the mage ran the damp rag over his face, washing away the dirt and gore. Anders' hand travelled down Fenris' chest, his waist, and stopped above the hem of his leggings.

"May I? It will get uncomfortable."

Fenris assisted, lifting his hips and letting the mage slide down his black hose. The cool air hit his privates and Fenris hissed as the damp cloth wiped across him. He turned his head and kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to see the reality of where he was and what was happening. He let the mage clean him, wiping drying bodily fluid from his groin. There was absolutely no interest from his body, just a sick feeling deep in his gut.

When the mage finished he pulled his leggings back up and drew himself up to sit. "Thank you," he said. But he couldn't look Anders in the eye - could not even raise his head to look at him. So Anders pulled him forward and Fenris found himself pressed against the mage. He buried his nose against the mage's hair and breathed deep. Anders still smelled like warm cotton under the dirt and blood.

"Maker... I am so sorry, Fenris. Please! I...I was cornered by Shades and pushed back into the hall. There were too many to take alone even with the bloody dog. I ran and tried to lose them and then doubled back and..." Anders swore and Fenris didn't recognize the word even though he fully understood the intent. "She has to pay. She cannot just do something-- Take something--"

"Hush, Mage," Fenris said. "You fuss."

"Fuss?  _Fuss!_ Fenris, she--"

Fenris pulled back and cut Anders off with nothing more but a look. The mage sighed and Fenris pulled Anders down to him with his dark hand clutched into golden hair. Anders had only a moment to look startled before Fenris kissed him. A continuation to what they had earlier that night. He held Anders close to him, pulling at his hair, no doubt pulling strands from the mage's head. He was not careful - all of his frustrations and anger and pain he let surge forward and warp into the desperation with in which he kissed the mage. Fenris could feel Anders' hand on the small of his back, finding just the right sensitive spot where lines of lyrium converged beneath his leather jerkin.

Hawke had taken from him. She had _laughed_ at him and then offered him nothing. She was gone; left him in his mess, in this hole.

His hand clasped at the back of Anders' neck and held him as they parted. Anders' breath came in short, hot huffs against his forehead, puffing against his hair, and Fenris could feel the man's stubble against his lips.

"I did not expect it from Hawke," he admitted. When he spoke, the scratch of Anders' facial hair tingled against his skin.

"No, I don't suppose you did," Anders replied. His hand stroked the back of Fenris' head, smoothing down white hair. "We never expect the ones we love to hurt us."

"You stayed."

There was silence for a moment before Anders spoke, "Of course I stayed! I made you a promise, Fenris. This..." He pushed Fenris back so that they could look each other in the eye. "This will not make a slave of you. You are a free man."

"I don't believe such a thing to be true," Fenris said. If anything, today had only proven that he was a slave to the end. He could kill one handler and another would come, his leash would be passed. He had killed Hadriana and now Hawke took possession of him.

"I believe it," Anders said. "You are not a slave. You are free to live...to love..." Anders looked away and let his hands drop to his side. "We all deserve that small freedom."

"We should return," Fenris said and stood.

They walked side by side, Anders' hand sometimes brushing against his arm purposefully but always without words. Fenris wasn't sure if he preferred to be alone or in the company of the mage. He would have thought he would prefer solitude but the thought of it made him tense. There was blackness inside of him, growing, seeping into his veins like a sickness, and each time the mage touched him it fled, receding into the depths of his body.

Anders couldn't know what he felt. The mage had experienced much, had survived much, but he had never been so...used...by someone that professed to care.

He didn't know how else to capture the feelings except by bundling it in confusion and disbelief; he had never expected this of Marian Hawke.

There were no more words, just a long walk back to Kirkwall and Hightown.

 


	11. Chapter 11

When it came to life as a free man, Fenris had never really known what to do with himself. He had run, fled Tevinter and never looked back. Danarius' guards had followed him to the ends of the Empire and beyond, hunting him like the animal he was. He killed them all, ripped their hearts still beating from their chests. He had been cruel and vicious thinking of nothing but his escape and freedom. The guards kept coming.

He knew, after a while, that it would not end. He could not spend his life sleeping with one eye open and mistrusting every dark alley. He would have a life. So he laid his trap...and waited.

Fenris had not expected Kirkwall to bring him Hawke. Fenris had seen the fear in people, had heard the tales of Darkspawn swarming from beneath the earth, leaving it blackened and dead in their wake. But the Blight had not reached the Marches and there the Hawke family fled; an old woman stricken with the loss of her only son, an innocent apostate mage, and Marian, who had seen too much. A survivor of the massacre at Ostagar, the head of a shattered family brought to poverty in a city they had thought their salvation.

Devotion was not a concept foreign to Fenris. His devotion to Danarius had been unrivaled. He had crushed a man's hand for daring to touch his master in the street. He had been trained to serve dutifully with regard for no other, not even himself. So had he served the eldest of the Hawke siblings. Reward was not necessary - serving her was reward in itself. To gain her respect, her admiration, Fenris would have done almost anything.

He had trusted too easily, given of himself too freely. He had craved the kind words, the encouragement. He had lingered by her side too long and let himself dream of life as a truly free man. A free life with Hawke.

All of his secrets, the stories of his past; Hawke held them all in her hands.

And she had used him.

Anders pushed open the door for him and he brushed past the mage and entered the mansion. A place he had taken, a place to wait for his fate. He had wanted nothing more until Hawke.

The rug on the floor was dirty, torn and moldy. He could feel the spongy fabric rotted under his feet. Fenris stared at the floor before turning back to Anders. "You may leave."

Anders folded his arms and a small grin appeared on his face. "I thought you wanted me to stay?"

"There is little need. Hawke has uncovered my weaknesses. I will no longer be a liability to her."

Anders balled his fists and Fenris thought he looked ready to scream. That or throw a tantrum. Fenris thought he might stamp his feet or pull his hair. Fenris smiled and looked away with a quiet chuckle.

"What? What's so funny?" Anders asked.

"You, Mage. You are so concerned for me. We are not friends."

"Maybe not but I made you a promise. Hawke might know about this but that... That...!" Anders thumped his fist hard against the wall. His hand was shaking. "What she did was unconscionable.When Danarius comes for you, do you honestly think she will help you if the tides are turned against her? If Danarius brings you to your knees she will walk away."

Fenris snarled, drawing his lips up away from his teeth. He didn't want to believe that Hawke would leave him. Hawke respected him; she needed him...did she not? No, he supposed she didn't. She had said so herself - should Anders and Fenris refuse to follow she would go to Aveline and the blood mage. But would she leave him to his fate with Danarius? Would she walk away and forget him as she had walked away from Anders?

The grin on her face, the laugh of satisfaction; Fenris could still hear that laugh ringing in his ears. Hawke knew his past yet when she found his chain still she pulled him under her reign. It was crushing.

Anders' hand rested on his shoulder and he looked up at the mage. The humor and bright smiles were gone. It was not pity that the mage showed him, but sympathy that came from shared pain.

"You care for my wellbeing," Fenris said.

"I suppose I do. You're still an intolerable pain in my ass but--mhph!"

Fenris pushed Anders up against the wall and crushed their lips together. 

Anders had not left. He had not used Fenris for fun, had not tormented him with the knowledge he held - he had not done anything Fenris had expected of him. No...it had been Hawke. Hawke, who he believed would never use him. Hawke, who he believed would never hurt him.

The feathered pauldron was dropped to the ground, followed by tatty coat. Anders hummed in appreciation as Fenris' fingers pressed against his stomach and the smile was back. Radiant and warm and Fenris turned his head away from it. "Stop smiling," he said.

"Can't I enjoy myself?" Anders asked and turned Fenris back to face him.

"...no."

Anders only smiled wider. Fenris could see the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes when he smiled like this - open, unguarded...and for him. 

"Can we have a bath?" Anders asked. He smeared his thumb over Fenris' cheek. "We're both filthy. I'm sure I have spider gunk in places I don't want to know about."

"You are vile."

"Be that as it may, it really only presses the urgency of the bath," Anders said. The mage leaned forward and placed a careful kiss to Fenris' lips. He did not force or take - it was almost chaste.

"Do..." Fenris breathed out. "Do that again."

"What? Kiss you? I didn't--" Anders snapped his mouth shut as if realization had silenced him physically. He smiled and nodded and leaned forward again, placing another gentle kiss to Fenris' lips; his lips, his cheeks and chin and his forehead, pushing aside dirty hair.

This, Fenris had never known. Softness. Tenderness. What he imagined he might have had with Hawke. Warmth from the company of one you loved - soul-burning passion turned to unending devotion. Gentleness he had never known in the years of life he remembered. Anders was not treating him as a pet, or an object, no, Anders was treating him like the equal he wanted to be.

Equal to the mage. A man he should despise - that he _had_ despised - and Fenris had asked him for the tenderness a slave would never expect to be worthy of receiving.

When he opened his eyes he saw the mage staring back at him. Anders' hand rested on Fenris' cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin.

"You can divest me of my remaining clothes..." Anders said, obviously trying to sound enticing. "I'll wash your back and--"

"Enough. We shall bathe. The tub is big enough for two."

Anders grinned. "Wonderful. Do you know how lucky you are to have a big tub like that? I have this stupid wash basin and Darktown water."

"Undoubtedly why you smell so foul," Fenris said but smiled as he stepped away.

"Me? I do not! Elfroot masks most everything."

Fenris followed Anders upstairs. The mage dropped his coat and pauldron in a ball near the door and pulled the torn tunic over his head to join the garments Fenris had already removed from his body. The muscles beneath his scarred skin shifted and Fenris watched. He had felt those scars under his hands but he had never looked at them - not properly. In the light he could see the raised scars of what had likely been several severe whippings. Burned flesh had healed to malformed and stretched skin, leathery like hide. Scars from cuts ranged higher over the mage's shoulder blades and below his neck. The Templars had not been creative but they had been severe. The rest of the mage's skin was dotted with wounds healed wrong, likely from Darkspawn blades, tainted with their blood. Anders said they were difficult to heal.

"It's ugly, I know," Anders said and turned suddenly and only then Fenris realized how long he had been staring.

"No...it is not," he said. There was no ugliness in the scars. There was only ugliness in the act that had created such marks. "You endured severe punishment."

"I tried to go away in my head. Joked as they hit me. Silly me, it only made them hit harder thinking I had not learned my lesson. The Templars want to see you beg."

Armor and weapons hit the floor as Fenris divested himself of his clothing. Leather jerkin went next and he beckoned Anders after him. The mage eagerly followed, shedding his boots awkwardly, hopping from one foot to the next as he hurried to remove the footwear. Fenris chuckled and together they fetched water from the spigot. It took several buckets to fill the tub but Fenris knew this type of luxury, to have running water so close, was rare and exclusive to those with the most coin. Even in Hightown most water pumps existed in the yard.

Anders knelt and leaned on the edge of the tub with his hands before plunging them into the water. His pale hands glowed hot and Fenris breathed in as his branding flared to life.

"Sorry. I really want hot water," Anders said.

"You need not apologize. It will be welcome."

Anders grabbed the soap and pointed to the stool. "I'll wash your back if you wash mine," he said and grinned and Fenris sighed.

"It sounds like cheap innuendo," he said but nonetheless shed his remaining clothing and sat down. He didn't feel much, if any, shyness around the mage. A bath was nothing compared to the mage touching his body, taking him in his mouth... Fenris frowned and hunched further forward. He did not need to think such things now.

Anders - a naked Anders, Fenris noted - knelt behind him before dumping a bucket of water over his head. Fenris spluttered and wiped his face and whipped around, glaring at Anders, who just grinned and held up his hands.

"What?"

"You did not think to warn me?"

"Not really. Sit still." Anders lathered the soap in his hands and took Fenris' arm. When Fenris tried to pull back, Anders held him still and rubbed his hands along darkened skin, following lines of lyrium up to Fenris' shoulders.

"You mean to wash me. I am not an invalid."

"Of course you're not. People do this for each other sometimes. So just close your eyes and enjoy."

Fenris huffed. The mage was washing him like one would a child, or an elderly parent! He ground his teeth but did as Anders asked and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body had tensed and slowly Anders massaged his hands and fingers. Fenris sighed and scrunched up his nose as the strong smell of the soap accosted his senses. Anders did not smell like this after he had bathed in Darktown.

"I agree," Anders said. "I'll bring you some new soap."

"You make your own," Fenris concluded.

"Mmhm, with herbs or flowers. Uh, not feminine flowers, mind you. Just enough to mask the smell of the lye."

"I enjoy your scent," Fenris said and then snapped his eyes open, realizing what he had said. Damn the man, always bringing him to distraction!

Anders smiled and lowered Fenris' arm and reached for the left. "I try my best not to smell like a whore at the Blooming Rose," he said with a fond chuckle of a laugh. "I..." The mage's cheeks flushed under the grime. "I quite enjoy...you. Your smell. It's of lyrium. I know I shouldn't say such a thing."

Fenris closed his eyes again and said nothing. The brands carved into his flesh had been for the delight of a madman. Yet he found he did not so much mind another enjoying them. It was almost an insult to Danarius that another would hold his creation so close when the Magister could not. Fenris found himself smiling.

Anders' hand slid up over his shoulder and a single finger trailed up his neck - it was the only signal Fenris was given before the mage pressed another light kiss to his lips. When Anders pulled back, Fenris huffed out the breath he had held and the muscles in his neck relaxed. It was the softness and the gentleness his body yearned for and he relaxed under Anders' hands until he was pliant. 

The mage worked along his chest and back, washed his legs and feet, careful not to aggravate sensitive nerves. Finally when Anders' fingers worked into his hair, Fenris let go of the small sound he had been holding back. He rested against the mage, felt the man's skin against his back, and let Anders wash his hair. 

"Good?" Anders asked.

Fenris could not reply with anything other than a small sound of satisfaction. His body had been abused throughout the day and this was a reward he had not known he deserved. He was surprised no one paid the man to simply do this for them.

Fingers slipped away and Fenris made to follow the clever hands. Anders steadied him, hand on his shoulder. 

"Keep your eyes closed." 

It was the briefest warning before another bucket was tipped over him, the water sluicing away dirt and blood and the residue of the harsh soap. Fenris rubbed his face clean and when he opened his eyes the mage was on his knees before him, looking up.

"When I first saw you...I thought you some demon," Anders said. "Even though I knew better. But like this I still can't get the idea out of my head that you're some being straight from the Fade. I'm not sure what, but men...elves...they're not like you. Never so incredibly striking."

Fenris frowned. The mage remained caked in dirt and blood, sweaty from the day’s trials, his hair lank and grimy, yet Fenris still looked upon him and saw a man with handsome looks with eyes a color he had never seen. And he sat there and professed of Fenris' visage. The man was a fool.

"In Tevinter you would be a prize worth fighting for," Fenris said. "Magisters would slay one another to chain you as a treasured and expensive pet."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or just a little scary," Anders said but he placed his hand on Fenris' knee and leant up. Fenris met him halfway down and let the mage press more soft kisses to his lips and his cheeks.

When Anders pulled back, Fenris smirked and caught him by the hair, holding him in place on his knees but with no strength to force him to remain. "It is a compliment, Mage. Though I do not suggest you make for Tevinter should you ever leave Kirkwall."

Anders laughed. "No, I suppose not. I quite like not being a slave. I don't think I would make an awfully good one."

"You talk too much and are slow to follow orders."

"Is that all or are you being kind? Well, I can't say I really want to be a very good slave. I didn't make a very good Apprentice either. Too spirited and irreverent. Though I thank you for the compliment. ...maybe I need to check the looking-glass a little more often."

"Vanity would not become you," Fenris said and released the mage. He stood and took another bucketful of water to rinse his hair properly and clean any places and spots the mage may have missed. He turned back and saw Anders washing himself thoroughly, scrubbing at his arms and face.

"Sit. I will wash your back. As you exchanged."

Anders raised his eyebrow but he did as he was asked and sat on the stool, still dripping with water and covered with soap. "You don't have to," he said.

Fenris did not reply. He took the soap and stood behind Anders and stared at the expanse of the mage's back. He reached forward and touched his fingers to a particularly bad area of burned skin just below the mage's shoulder. Anders didn't flinch. The edges of the burn were neat - most likely a piece of metal that had been heated over a flame and pressed into the mage's skin. As though he were an animal.

Scars crisscrossed the mage's back. Burns to cuts, cuts to raised and healed welts from the sting of the lash. Fenris ran his fingers along the lines the whips had left on the mage's back. Some of the marks flowed down to his rear where the flesh had been broken. Anders breathed in then but did not move and did not say a word. Fenris took that as permission to continue. 

Marks like these had always healed on his body. He had rarely been touched, and he was never punished in such a way that may lead to scarring, but his body healed faster than other’s. The lyrium in his skin worked to amplify magic and Danarius had the best of healers at his beck and call. Fenris, his work of art, was never allowed to scar. Fenris treated the first scar he received while on the run as sacred. A sign of his freedom.

The scars on Anders' body were the work of neglect. A healer - Anders himself - could have closed the rent skin and smoothed any disfigurations. These wounds had been left, had likely been infected, until they had healed naturally.

"May I touch your hair?" he asked and Anders nodded. He was likely sick of being prodded at by a curious elven warrior. Fenris found that, when it came to the mage, it was difficult to sate that curiosity. Anders had already told him so much of what had happened to him and yet Fenris still had questions. Anders was everything he was supposed to despise and he wanted to know why he did not.

"What are you going to do about Hawke?" Anders asked, his voice low. He didn't want to ask the question.

Fenris stilled his hands in the mage's hair. "I am unsure."

"She will use this again. She will use this as a way to have you with no strings attached. I've seen the way she looks at you."

"She is with the pirate whore," Fenris said, yet couldn't deny the surge of enthusiasm that worked through him.

"Yes, and she is devoted to Isabela...in her own way. But they bring many others to their bed. She asked me, long ago."

"And you refused."

"Of course I did! I'm... I'm not that person anymore."

Drops of water and flecks of soap dripped from the mage's hair and Fenris resumed his ministrations, working his fingers along the mage's scalp as the mage had done for him. It had felt good and Anders sighed and his shoulders slumped in pleasure.

"You're good at that. Might have to make this a daily thing."

"You are done," was Fenris' reply.

"Ugh, fine, Mr Cranky Pants." Anders dumped a bucket of water over his head and shook his hair like a wet dog. Anders clambered into the bath first, almost falling on his fool face. Water splashed over the edge and he sunk under the surface. Fenris felt his lips twitch, something almost a smile, when Anders burst back above the water, hair dripping wet, water running down his face.

"Coming?" Anders asked and leaned over the edge of the tub, arms dangling over the side and dripping more water onto the tiles.

"You make a mess. Are there no rules on cleanliness and order in your tower?"

"Too many," Anders replied. He slid over and allowed Fenris to climb into the bath across from him. "Like I said, I made an awful Apprentice and I got no better. Really they're better off without me."

"Then it is lucky you have escaped. I shall inform the Head Enchanter you are now my problem."

Anders wrapped his arms around his knees. "Am I to be your problem?"

"You have already made yourself my problem, Mage," Fenris replied. Anders stared, eyebrows climbing high to be shadowed by his wet hair. Fenris did not understand his surprise; such a thing should have been clear. They could not return to a time before this. Fenris could no more wipe his memory of the mage than Anders could forgive Hawke. Whatever happened Fenris thought the man more than just a mage and that could not be changed. This past would not be forgotten in the future.

The water splashed over the side of the tub as the mage slid towards him. With an irritated huff Fenris shifted to accommodate him. Anders fit between his legs, his back pressed to Fenris' chest. To rest his head against Fenris' shoulder the mage had to slide lower in the bath and bend his legs but he found a comfortable position in the end and finally stopped fidgeting. 

Fenris was not unnerved by Anders crowding him like this; he put an arm around the mage's chest and held him there instead. "Are you done?" Fenris asked.

Anders nodded. "Fine, now."

"Your legs are too long."

"Yours are too short!"

"I am an elf," Fenris said.

Anders reached one arm back over his head to touch Fenris' ear, drawing his fingers along to the pointed end. "Mm, I noticed."

"Then do not bleat the obvious."

Anders pinched his ear and Fenris jerked his head to the side with a hiss of annoyance. Anders laughed and let his arm drop back down to touch Fenris' hand instead, rubbing the elf's fingers and following the lines of the bones and lyrium. The mage was silent for a good many minutes, just stroking Fenris' skin. He knew Justice reveled in his lyrium but he suspected the mage enjoyed the pure, physical closeness. It made him calm. Stopped all the mage's fussing and fiddling and endless, endless chatter.

Fenris did not mind the attention. At one time, he would have found the mage's interest repulsive. A time when he had not known of the man's softness, kindness and compassion. Of his strength or courage. A time when he had not wanted to know. They had squabbled over such dividing issues, barely realizing they wanted the same thing: freedom. Fenris had come to respect the man.

He had even come to care for Anders.

Templars would not take him. He would not be subjected to further punishment. He would not be locked in the darkness. They would not dare to make him Tranquil. Fenris would not allow it. He would protect Anders, if the mage so needed his help.

Fenris knew he would still voice his opinion, but it was possible to have a conversation and discussion with Anders without resorting to insults and threats. They had come far enough to end that. They could claim a friendship - an understanding. Anders was here to help him win his freedom but now there was more reason to remain. They were friends...and companions. That would not end when this situation was resolved. Even though it was hard to believe something as unlikely as his friendship with the mage could occur.

Wet blonde hair stuck to his face when Fenris pressed his nose to Anders' temple. The mage smelled clean but strongly of lye, always with the underlying scent of fresh linen. It was comforting and folded around his senses. Fenris had assumed it was something the mage bathed with, but he had come to realize that it was the smell of the man's magic. Danarius had smelled of blood and sulfur. Merrill smelled of blood, earth and greenery. Fenris could literally _smell_ a blood mage. Anders smelled as comforting as his magic felt.

Anders' eyes were closed, silent as he lay against Fenris in the warm water. It was exceptionally pleasant. Though that could be partly due to how tired they both were after the day's exhaustions. Mentally and physically, he could just not press on.

"I have no clean clothes to fit you," Fenris said, his voice quiet as not to startle Anders.

"I didn't plan to put clothes on," Anders replied. A mischievous smirk settled on his lips and Fenris laughed.

"Is that so, Mage?"

"Entirely so." Anders yawned and stretched the best he could. "If I may join you."

Fenris nodded and Anders sighed happily. The mage shuffled and slipped away to remove himself from the water. It was not graceful but Fenris found himself watching the man regardless of his failure at agility. It was easier for Fenris to stand and climb out of the bath. Unlike Anders, he made no attempts at dropping himself on the floor.

Anders chucked a towel at him and he dried quickly. It was cold enough even during the day that he did not want to be out long. He followed Anders and watched the mage light the fire in the hearth. The towel was wrapped around his thin waist, barely covering anything important. Anders warmed his hands and pulled the towel away to dry at his hair, giving Fenris the completely uninhibited view of his rear.

"Do you mean to tease me?" Fenris asked.

"Me?" Anders looked over his shoulder. 

Fenris wanted to bury his fingers in the mage's hair and tug him close and hold the mage against his body. It was barely high noon gone but they had not slept last night and Hawke's adventure had driven them into the morning chill. Fenris welcomed sleep. He discarded the damp towel with his dirty clothes and then slid under the covers. Anders joined him so quickly he might have thought the man used magic to transport himself. The bed bounced and Anders pulled the warm blankets high around his chin. Anders shuffled closer and Fenris held back a smile upon seeing the mage's pleading expression.

"You may," Fenris said.

Anders sighed a breath of relief and reached out and clung to the elf, drawing his body up close. Fenris had to believe that if the man ate more he might be able to retain some body heat, but Anders barely gave himself the time. So Fenris let him cling and sleep there beside him, body to body under the fur blankets.

Fenris generally slept poorly. The smallest of noises woke him, thinking each time that it was Danarius come to seize him back. He kept his sword close and took comfort in knowing he had been made into a living weapon should another be too far from his reach.

So when he woke to a darkened room lit by the dying embers of the fire and what little light the moon provided, Fenris felt noticeably rested but concerned. He did not ever sleep so well, but he had put his body and his mind through so much earlier, maybe it was not so surprising. Maybe it had been what he needed; a proper, uninterrupted rest.

The blankets fell to his waist as he sat up. Anders was curled next to him, his hand still resting on Fenris' thigh where it had slipped when the elf moved. Anders was surprisingly still when he slept. Fenris had assumed the man would be all limbs, probably hog the blanket, and snore like he was cutting wood. Usually the mage slept right next to him, pressed skin to skin, curled in on himself as he was now. Fenris brushed some of the man's hair back from his face, the blonde strands still cool from where the water had mostly dried during the afternoon.

Anders was distracting. He made Fenris calm when he had never known such a thing. The man could touch him, stroke his skin, or just move into his space and Fenris would feel warm air surround him, work through him until the tension flowed away. 

While he was still on the run, was that the best for him, though? He had lived with that tension. It kept him on edge and alert and if it left him would he know when the final strike came?

Had his situation with Hawke not arisen from such a thing? He had let his guard down, let her in close, and she had struck and he was all the more fool for letting it happen.

Anders shifted slightly in his sleep, seeking the warmth that had been lost to him. His nose wrinkled and his eyes opened at last, looking up at Fenris in the dark. The mage blinked several times to clear his vision and then looked around the dark room. "Hm, we slept that long?" His voice was husky from sleep.

"Yes. You are not ready to wake. Sleep."

Anders smiled and pulled the blankets up, dragging them away from Fenris. The cold air hit his body and Fenris snatched the receding blanket edge and pulled it back.

"Then lay down," Anders said and grabbed his arm, tugging.

Fenris acquiesced and did as the mage wanted. Anders' hands ran up his chest, fingers moving between scars of lyrium, touching only skin. The mage's clever fingers pressed up against his collarbones and across his shoulders and Fenris pulled the blanket over them both.

"We _are_ awake," Anders said. He shifted so that he could lean on his elbow, facing Fenris, his hand splayed over the elf's stomach.

"And you wish?"

Anders shook his head. "Not what I wish."

Fenris watched him. Confusing, curious mage. The man's face was so expressive, his hands articulated what he wanted to say, and his body held so much energy just for emotion. He raised his hand and touched Anders' chin, running his thumb along the stubble on the man's jaw. He truly enjoyed the feeling.

"Perhaps...I wish to know what it is that you want."

In the dark, Fenris could see the man smile but none of the expression in his eyes. He lost half the meaning of that smirk, though he had some good ideas as to what it meant.

"It's supposed to be about what you want, Fenris, not what I want..."

Fenris ran his thumb over Anders' lips and the mage made a small sound, a mewl of want, and he turned his head, following Fenris' fingers.

"What I want is to have you speak. Despite what all good sense tells me." Fenris smirked as Anders nipped at his fingers. "If I am allowed anything I ask, then I wish to hear your desires."

Anders turned his head, looking down and away. "I, uh... That is perhaps not the best of ideas."

"So I finally find what the mage denies me?"

"No! No, I... Fenris, that is..." He cleared his throat and finally nodded. "All right. But only because you asked. I-I sometimes imagine you touching me. Not...not just touching but how you wandered my body with those absolutely wicked fingers of yours. Your lips on my skin, your weight over me. Maker, but it has been a long time since I've been with anyone, and the way you touched me--" Anders snapped his mouth shut when Fenris ran his hand down the mage's front, stopping just below his navel. He looked down and just stared at the elf's hand.

"Continue."

"O-okay... I imagine sometimes you come and drag me from my writings, much to Justice's disapproval, but having you close makes it so blessedly silent. You kiss my neck and tug my head back by my hair and bite your teeth down on my throat..." Anders cleared his throat again and Fenris had to smile. The mage seemed to be having exceptional difficulty just voicing his fantasy; as much trouble as Fenris had asking for that which he wanted.

"You fear my reaction," Fenris concluded.

"There isn't much time for drawn out fantasies in the Circle, you know. Sometimes you're lucky if you know the other person's name."

"Yet you have this fantasy, regardless."

Anders nodded. "I have a lot of time to think when I'm alone. Though Justice calls this particular branch a waste of our time."

Fenris placed his hands on the mage's shoulders and pressed him back onto the bed, coming to rest atop him, knees either side of Anders' thighs. The mage sucked in a shallow breath as their bodies came into contact with each other. Anders skin was warm and clean and Fenris ran his hands down the mage's chest again, following the lines of scars, of ribs, or the light dusting of curious hair the man sprouted across his body.

"Continue, then," Fenris said.

"I-I, yes, umm, well you always tug my clothing off, even tearing the fabric away from the buckles of my coat and before I can complain you are on me, kissing me...oh." The mage paused again as Fenris stroked his chest. "Yes, and...and you throw me down on your bed, pulling away my trousers, you gauntlets grazing just above--Fenris!"

Fenris felt the corner of his lips twitch as the mage stared at him, wide eyed. He ran his hand again down the man's flaccid length and Anders made a noise very much like a squeak where his breath and words caught in his throat.

"You enjoy me talking to you like this?" Anders asked.

It was more complicated than that. He enjoyed that Anders had been thinking of him, had been fantasizing about him, and wanted him when they were apart. He enjoyed that he could ask the man to share his fantasy and that the act of doing so was difficult and embarrassing for the mage who always seems to sure and experienced when it came to their sexual explorations. So yes, he enjoyed this.

Anders shivered. Fenris felt the shudder run down the whole of the mage's body. He stroked Anders' cock once more, tightening his grasp just enough to pull another whine from the mage. The pillow was almost crushed flat as Anders pressed his head back, twisting and turning and trying to struggle under Fenris. Not to get away, no, rather the mage did not seem to like being held back from being able to touch and move as he wanted.

"Is this enjoyable...?" Fenris asked. He knew Anders' history. Fenris would not be a source of the man's discontent.

"Yes..." Anders breathed out. His hand clamped down on Fenris' thigh, squeezing hard. "Please, more."

"I wish you to continue your tale, Mage."

Anders looked up, shocked. "Really? Now?"

"You are a source of inspiration, it seems."

Anders breathed out. His breath was ragged, torn from a throat swallowing convulsively. "I... I, umm...okay. Okay, I can go on. Uh, well okay, when I imagine you with me it's...rough. You tie my hands behind my back and rake red marks down my chest until you throw your gauntlets away and-- M-Maker! Fenris, I can't...!" Anders arched his back, fingers tangling into the sheets. His back fell down against the mattress again and he tried to thrust his hips up instead, except with Fenris seated on his thighs he couldn't move at all. "Fenris, please! I--"

"Finish your story, Mage." Fenris leaned down and pressed a kiss to Anders' chest. He nipped at the pale skin and Anders groaned, moving one arm to cover his eyes.

Perhaps it was easier if he was not looking at Fenris. "You...you use your sword oil to coat your fingers and...and...that's very distracting, y-you know!" 

"You are a mage. You must live with distraction and concentrate."

Anders bit down on his lower lip, the pink flesh blanching. "Ugh, you...you press your fingers into me and Maker! It would feel so... Fenris, please, let us not just talk about--"

"I wish to be inside you," Fenris said. "I have thought of little else."

Anders slipped his arm away so that he could look at the elf. "You wish--"

"Yes."

"Would you stop interrupting? Fenris, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. I didn't think that...that you would wish to...you know, you and me?"

Fenris rested his hands on the mage's hips, thumbs pressed to the points where skin stretched over bones too prominent. "You have offered me pleasures I could not have imagined. I have come to...respect you. I have come to wish for your company." He caught Anders' hand before the mage could try to touch him again. "You wish to offer me my freedom and you have not taken from me."

"If this is about Hawke..."

"No. Hawke is no longer in my mind. I...I have thought of this for some time. You have offered me your body, as I have shared mine. I want you writhing beneath me; I want to hear only my name from your lips."

Anders tried to tug his hand free but Fenris pulled it to his lips. He kissed the mage's hand and Anders' cheeks turned a fine shade of pink.

"Is this not how your fantasy ends?" Fenris asked.

"Yes." Anders grinned. He tried to shift again under Fenris, desperately trying to move his hips up toward some kind of stimulation. "In my fantasy...you fuck me so hard I barely remember my name. Only yours."

Fenris smirked. Perfect. This was the natural progression of their interludes and Fenris wanted nothing more. He wanted to hold the mage, feel his body quiver as Fenris pressed inside of him. He wanted the mage to come apart by his hands. Fenris did not think he would be comfortable should their situations be reversed - to be taken by another would just fuel terrible memories. But to couple with the mage did not revolt him. No, that could be no further from the truth.

"I do not wish to harm you," Fenris said. "Does submission not remind you of past pain?"

Anders leaned up, as much as he could, so that he could grab Fenris by the shoulders and drag him down. Fenris wound his fingers into the mage's hair as their lips met. One of Anders' hands stroked a languid path down his back, over his hip and onto his rear to knead the muscle there. Fenris thrust his hips forward and the mage hummed in reply.

When they parted Anders swiped his tongue over Fenris' lower lip. He grinned and pushed back the white hair from the elf's face. "Sharing your body through choice is not a submission," Anders said and then crushed their lips together again. It was permission; proof that Anders was to give Fenris this, as well.

The mattress creaked as they moved, just enough to remind them of their place in the room, that while they were alone they were still in Kirkwall and all their problems had not been left behind. Anders hooked his ankle behind Fenris' knee, bringing and keeping them close together. He reached between them, into what little space their bodies offered, and took hold of Fenris' heated length. A string of Tevene curses spilled from Fenris as the mage brought their cocks together, moving his hand around both. Anders' hand was dry but the slight discomfort was not enough to force away the sensation. Fenris could feel his skin burning, could feel the deep pressure that had settled low in his body.

Beautiful red-blonde hair spread across the pillow, fanned around Anders' head. Fenris ran his fingers through the locks, holding himself up with his other arm. It was difficult, his muscles tensed and aching but with each slide of the mage's hand his body forgot the pain and knew only the tingling pleasure that built inside of him.

"I want you to take me... Fenris, please, for so long--"

"Shh, Mage. If you wanted this, why did you not just ask?"

Anders looked up at him, stilling his hand before sliding it away. "This was never about me."

Fenris kissed him. Anders' hands pulled them close together, body to body, slick with sweat and heated skin. The mage had given him all of this and had forsaken his own desires.

Anders pushed him back and silenced Fenris with a small, gentle kiss when he tried to complain. "I shall show you how much I want this... You. How much I want you."

Fenris frowned but moved away, dragging the blankets with him. Spread across the bed, pale skin flushed and golden hair sweaty, Fenris thought Anders beautiful - no, more than simply beautiful. He hadn't the words. The mage had exquisite features; a defined nose, strong jaw, long neck, and warm amber eyes. He was the type of man whose personality shone through his features. 

"May I... Magic. I uh, have a spell. It's nothing, I promise, just...for slick." Anders ran his hand through his hair and Fenris watched that hand, not truly listening to what the mage said.

The mage said some people had a...fetish. Fenris felt his may be a slight obsession with the man's hair.

He nodded and Anders smiled, bright as the sun. Beautiful. Fenris inhaled, his body flaring blue and then white as Anders' magic pulled at him, swirling beneath his skin. A wet, viscous liquid filled the mage's hand and Fenris understood what the man meant to do. Anders coated his fingers and then reached down along his body, avoiding his hard, flushed dick and moving lower. Fenris watched as Anders ran slicked fingers down below his balls, over his entrance. The mage drew his legs up, bending at the knee and Fenris stroked Anders' calf, at a loss as to what else he might do in such a situation. He had never... 

Danarius had taken him whenever he wanted, with little preamble and no care for such things like careful preparation or even a slick substance. Blood often proved adequate lubricant. Fenris had not been with another except one failed dalliance as a free man. He understood mechanics and some things were logical but it did not grant him any guidance now.

Anders gasped and Fenris ran his hand down to the mage's toes, watching them curl in anticipation. The mage slipped one slick finger into himself and Fenris felt his own body twitch in response. What must it feel like to take another man, to be inside of him, move together?

"Fenris..." Anders' voice was breathy. It sent another surge of undeniable lust through Fenris. He couldn't look away. He had seen men pleasure themselves before - such a thing was barely a scene in Tevinter - but this was not just any man. This mage chose to be here and was choosing to give himself to Fenris. So he watched, unabashedly, as Anders slipped another finger inside of himself and worked them in and out, sliding easily with the readily available grease. Fenris could feel the answering twitch of interest that made his cock jump and he lowered his hand to his crotch and took hold of his already weeping length. A drop of clear fluid ran down his shaft and he swiped it away.

"Fenris... I--" Anders swallowed and Fenris watched the bob of his throat. "Fenris, now. Maker! I've been patient enough."

A small laugh slipped unwillingly from him. "Yes, Mage. You have been patient."

"Then, please! Just fuck me. You still want this...right?" Anders’ hips thrust up towards nothing, simply reacting to the stimulation. He slipped his fingers from his body and conjured another handful of grease, holding his full palm out to Fenris.

Yes. He did still want this. He did not know if he wanted anything more. This - this man - was for him. Given to him as an equal, someone who respected him, perhaps even cared for him. 

The slick grease was cool but warmed as soon as it touched his skin. Fenris shivered as he coated his hand and then reached down and stroked his aching cock. He had to stop the moan of pleasure the simple act brought from him, biting down on it until only a small grunt slipped out. Fenris hung his head, chin resting on his chest, eyes closed, as he worked the grease over himself. 

"Don't tease me, please," Anders said. "When you do that... Sweet Maker, Fenris you're gorgeous! Please, please, please just--"

"Take you," Fenris finished for him and Anders nodded eagerly.

Fenris shifted closer from where he had moved earlier. The fur blankets were discarded - exertion and body heat would keep them warm. He touched his hand to Anders' stomach and the mage jumped, his muscles contracting. Fenris ran his hand down past the man's navel and to his cock, running just a single finger along the flushed skin. Anders whined, squirming, and Fenris chuckled. He did not want to rush this. Pointless, fierce rutting was not what he sought. That could come later should they wish to do such a thing again, sometime when they had scant few minutes and a lack of total privacy.

He touched his fingers to the flesh behind the man's sac and then down to his hole. His fingers were still and Anders ground his hips down, trying to gain the attention he wanted.

"Be still, Mage."

"I can't! I've n-never been good at being patient."

Fenris pressed his thumb to the puckered entrance and then removed his hand. He laid a kiss to Anders' bent knee, the hair tickling his jaw. "You shall wait no more, then," he said. 

The skin on the inside of Anders' thighs was silken soft. Fenris ran his hand along the pale skin and lifted Anders' leg. Anders eagerly wrapped his leg around Fenris' waist and pulled him closer until he was in line with the eager and pliant body of the mage. The thumping of his heart was so loud in his head, Fenris was sure the mage must hear it now. 

He took hold of himself and pressed the flushed and swollen head of his cock to the mage's hole. It was a simple thing, to press forward, but the feeling was like nothing he had experienced. Fenris breathed out, his mouth slack as he thrust forward once and then again. He hung his head and closed his eyes as the feeling slammed him. The heat of the mage's body, the tightness that seemed too much - Fenris could feel himself shaking with effort and sensation.

"Fenris... Look at me." The mage spoke with the efficient, sensible tone Fenris found himself craving when it all became too much.

White hair fell away from his brows as he lifted his head, opening his eyes to look at the mage beneath him. Anders' pale skin was flushed almost from head to toe, his cock hard and glistening with oil and precome. Fenris shuddered again and he had to grit his teeth and calm himself, taking a deep breath of cool air.

"Is it too much? We don't have to..." Anders said. His voice was just as shaky as Fenris felt.

"No." It was all Fenris could manage; he needed the moment to regain himself, taking another gulp of air. He approached this as he approached most things; sensibly, with resolve and determination unwavering. He gave himself his moment before moving his hips, pressing his way forward and burying himself completely within the mage's willing body. Anders made a sound close to a hiccup, just a small hitch of his voice as he wound the sheets in his hand.

Anders' heel dug into his back, holding him there, until Fenris felt him relax. Fenris was aware of the humming of his brands; a pulse of life that ached and arched towards Anders. Even the line of lyrium carved onto his cock pulsed, pressed inside of the mage, intimately close. Fenris moved his hips back and closed his eyes again as he felt his length move and slide from the tight channel of the mage's body until just the head remained.

It was Anders who pulled him back, digging his heel into Fenris' lower back and grinding himself down onto the lyrium-etched member. Fenris growled and leaned forward. Anders pushed up onto his elbow to meet him, crushing his lips to Fenris’ with a small moan of need.

Fenris could readily say that this was not comparable to anything he had ever done. His length enveloped by warmth and a pressure almost uncomfortable. As the mage tensed, a surge of sensation flooded Fenris' nerves and he collapsed forward, resting his head on Anders' chest. The mage chuckled and stroked his hair.

He pulled back from the tight heat and then thrust forward again. Had he been a normal man, the sensations would have taken him and he would have lost himself within the mage. But he was not. And he could use that now. Anders panted and tilted his head back against the pillow as Fenris plunged forward into him again. Fenris may not be able to orgasm, but he would not deny the mage.

He wanted Anders writhing beneath him. Wanted the man to beg and plea and say his name over and over until he screamed it as he came. He held the mage's hip as he found his pace; an aggravatingly slow slide that took all of his concentration to maintain. A pace that made each touch of their bodies more worthwhile, drawing out the sensations and made their nerves buzz.

Lyrium flared again and Fenris grunted. Anders had used no magic but it practically leaked from him as his senses overloaded. The mage grabbed his shoulder and dug his nails into Fenris' skin. Everywhere the mage touched his brands, he flared brighter. The cycle fueled them both until they hummed with energy.

"Fen--! Fenris...! Please, it's not enough," Anders pleaded. He released the sheets from his other hand and wiped his face. His hand was shaking. "Faster... Please!"

A grin formed on his lips but he said nothing. The answer was no. He wanted the mage to feel everything Fenris felt until he was shaking and writhing as Fenris had beneath the mage's hands so many times before. Fenris grasped the man's other leg and lifted it - Anders understood and let Fenris slide his arms beneath his thighs, holding Anders' legs. The first slide into his body had Anders' groaning, his nails biting harder into Fenris' skin. When Fenris pulled back and slid home again, Anders cried out in the language of the Anderfels; deep and foreign and Fenris shuddered at the sound.

"Fenris... Maker! This is--" Anders cut off his rumblings by biting down on his finger. Fenris could feel the mage's body shivering with excitement.

He saw no reason to change his pace. He was not racing towards his own orgasm and he could take his time. The mage's body accepted him willingly, pulling him back in as he pressed forward, tight around his cock. Anders' muscles tensed again and Fenris felt his whole body tremble with pleasure as the mage's body clamped down around him.

"Anders..." The man's name was the first thing that came from him, had he wanted to speak it or not. He could think of nothing else.

There was no Danarius. No Hawke. His life as a slave was gone, his life as a warrior gone. He was here, now, in the moment where he was buried inside the mage, moving with him, sweat rolling down their skin and lyrium and magic twining together.

Anders arched his back and a string of words Fenris didn't understand fell from his lips. The man gasped and stifled a moan that whined from his body.

"You will not touch yourself," Fenris said as he saw Anders reach for his own neglected cock. The man's length was flushed and purpled, weeping against his stomach and twitching each time Fenris slid into him. Anders made a noise of utter frustration and moved his hand away.

"I need... Fenris, I can't last much longer! Please, let me--" Anders bit into his finger again. He rolled his hips in time with Fenris' movements, trying to get more, trying to get deeper.

"You shall not touch yourself," Fenris repeated, his voice shaky. "I wish for you to come only from this. You are close."

It was true. Anders quaked, barely able to hold his legs up and would have fallen if not for Fenris pressing into his thighs. Fenris shifted again and a surge akin to electricity bolted through them as Anders' body clenched tight. 

"Fenris!" the mage cried.

Fenris kissed the mage's chest. He could no longer hold his pace, moving harder, faster, thrusting into the quaking body beneath him. Each of Anders' moans urged him on and he moved just how the man wished, finding the angle and pace that drew the most sounds from the vocal mage.

"I wish..." He splayed his hand over Anders' abdomen, feeling the coarser hairs against his palm and sensitive fingers. "I wish to come inside of you. ...claim you. I wish for you to remember this as I shall. I..." His breaths came in short huffs. Such a thing could not occur. He had already marked the man's body - finger-shaped bruises on his hip, bite mark on his thigh - but it was not the same. He wished to finish buried in the tight, delicious heat of the mage's body.

"Then... Then come. Fenris, please! Mark me." Anders clung to him, nails raking across Fenris' shoulders. "Claim me. I want it. Want you!" Anders gasped and his eyes blanked over.

"I cannot. It...it is there. Out of reach. Mage, I beg you..." The pressure had built in him, dull and burning and begging for release. His nerves sung with excitement. "You can..."

Anders clung to him. The mage pulled at his hair and was silent. Fenris knew what he was asking was off limits. He should not be asking for such a thing. But surely this was on his terms. He was with someone of his choosing, who wanted him, wished to be _claimed_ by him, willingly and without incentive. This was his choice and he wanted to reach his completion buried inside the mage, feel the man's body clench around him as he spilled. "I ask this of you. Please," he said.

The mage shuddered and Fenris knew the man was too close to the edge. As he pressed forward, thrusting into Anders' body, he could feel the mage's muscles spasming. He held Anders to him. The mage clawed at Fenris' back and he could feel Anders' breath against his ear, the man so close.

"Fenris... _Come for me, my Love..._ "

He needed nothing else. The room lit, bright as day, as Fenris came to orgasm. The mage's body tightened around him and he felt the heat and damp of the man's seed spilling between them. Fenris cried out - what, he could not say - and pushed deeper into Anders' tight body. He spilled into the mage, claiming him as his own. Fenris had given himself to the mage, had let the mage use his body as he saw fit, and now the intimacy was returned. He did not let the man go, holding him there even after he had run dry. Every nerve, every inch of lyrium crafted into his flesh pulsed a rhythm in the aftermath. He waited until he could hear life other than the pulsing of his blood in his veins and could see more than a white glaze over his vision. But he could not stop himself from shaking.

Anders was stroking his hair, kissing his cheek and chin and murmuring quiet words in his ear. Fenris did not need to understand the meaning - he was not even sure what language the man spoke, his mind so addled - but he understood the soothing, calm tone. He turned his head and captured Anders' lips with his own, drawing the man into a kiss, deep and needy, aching for closeness.

It was Anders that finally pulled away, untangling himself from the crushing hold Fenris had on him. He slipped out of the bed and Fenris reached for him.

"Just getting the washcloth," Anders said.

Fenris let him, but only because he was not steady on his feet. Anders returned and he pressed the damp cloth to Fenris' chest and wiped down to his stomach. 

"I made quite the mess," the mage whispered as he cleaned his spilled seed from Fenris' skin.

"I wished to be marked by you," Fenris replied.

The expression on Anders' face was unreadable. He continued his task in silence, cleaning them both before discarding the cloth near their dirty clothes. He grabbed the furs and pulled them up and Fenris was glad to slide into the warmth the bed provided. Even if it meant avoiding patches their exertions had left wet.

Anders slid over to him and leaned forward, clearly unsure. Fenris grasped him, pulled him in close and kissed the man. Hard, almost bruising with need.

The reality settled hard on his shoulders. He had asked the mage to command him. He had asked for him to use something that ensured his slavery. Yes, he had wanted it, he had wanted so badly. He did not regret what they had done. Anders drew away from him and Fenris made sure he was pressed close as they settled back. Anders gladly slid an arm over Fenris, fingers stroking his chest and along his clavicle.

He had marked Anders in a way that, while it would wash away, could not be forgotten. They had this. He looked at the top of Anders' head, the mage's cheek still pressed to his chest. He had wanted the man so badly. Had wanted him badly enough that he had cast aside so many of his issues and fears to have him, to hold him and...

And he didn't know why. Anders was... Fenris frowned as he found himself stroking the man's hair. He could tell Anders was drifting into sleep, his muscles lax and his weight coming to rest fully on Fenris. He had let the mage - a mage! A possessed mage! - close to him.

Anders was _Anders_ \- not 'abomination', not 'mage', but a man that Fenris had held, had felt quake in his arms, and reduced to desperate sounds of pleasure as they coupled. Anders was just a man and Fenris cared for him.

More than he should.

His heart raced in his chest. No, it was an absurd thought. Anders? But when he thought on the mage he found himself smiling, recalling his scent and his voice, how soft his hair was, the slight crinkle in the corner of his eyes when he laughed, the way his hand clenched around his staff when he was anxious or how he held himself around his arms when he was concerned. Even now, with the mage lying across his chest, Fenris could only find kindness for him.

Whatever space Hawke had taken inside of his heart had come to be filled by Anders.

Breath caught in his throat and he swallowed, trying to stop himself from choking. But it would not go. He couldn't! A mage? _A mage?_ No, he had loved a mage once before, had served a mage, and he had promised himself _never again_. 

Never again would he be used, never again would he become a mage's plaything. He wanted his freedom and giving himself to another did not secure such a future.

Anders' blonde hair lay across his skin, long-fingered hand pressed to his chest, his breathing even and body heavy. Fenris carefully removed the mage from him and moved away. Anders' features were delicate in sleep, lines of stress and anxiety faded from his face. Fenris dug his nails into his palms to stop himself from reaching for the man again. No, he had let this happen. Had been... _beguiled_...into thinking that he could care for such a man. A mage, no matter how charming or compassionate was still a mage. And Fenris could not be beholden to him.

He took his discarded and dirty clothing, his armor and his sword and stole out of the room, knowing the mage was a light sleeper. But he could not be here any longer. He had allowed himself to become entangled by this man and he needed to cut the threads, lest he lose himself forever.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Of all the things Fenris thought he should feel embarrassment was not high among the choices. But entering his mansion from the back after scaling the fence to his yard and hiding in his room for days - almost a week - provided no other emotional cue.

A man would have spoken to Anders. A man would admit his feelings.

Fenris was nothing but an escaped slave trying to outrun his tether.

Anders had banged on his front door for what seemed like hours. He had heard the mage yelling at him, trying to get him to open the doors and talk to him. Fenris never answered; he even sat in the dark and cold the first few nights, pretending he was not there. The mage finally left but Fenris realized that it was probably against his will when he heard the sound of clanking armor; guards or Templars but neither being a group an apostate mage really wanted to be involved with in the dark of night.

Two days past that night and Fenris found a note slipped under his door. He had taken it but not even opened it - what was the point?

Eventually Anders would stop coming to him. Eventually the mage would forget their time together entirely. And they would be better for such a lapse. 

Except... Fenris touched his fingers to the letter, the paper already crinkled from handling, and then brought it to his nose. It smelled of Elfroot, pine and lavender. He could not read the note but holding it evoked the same emotions he imagined the words would raise. 

It could not work. The mage had been assisting him and nothing more. Fenris was a fool if he thought otherwise. Anders was a mage, concerned with his manifesto, his clinic and, above all, his freedom. He had helped Fenris as he had a patient. And Fenris had let that get to him, tricking him into thinking emotion forged from hardship and pain was real. He could not feel for a mage. He did not feel for Anders.

He breathed in against the paper again. The scent of Elfroot was heady. He could almost imagine what the mage would write. But who could he have read him such a note? No one could be trusted with reading such a missive. So he had nothing except his imagination. Anders would be sensible, would try to explain Fenris' feelings and his fear, ask to see him so that they might talk in person. 

Fenris imagined the letter contained other words, though. Things he knew the mage would not say. Fenris could imagine reading flowery, poetic words of the mage's love for him, how he had kept the feelings secret until now but he could no longer. He imagined Anders' letter to be filled with gushing paragraphs detailing their night together, how the mage had ached for Fenris to claim him as he had done, and how he might never live again without Fenris in his life.

Fenris smirked. Such a thing was ludicrous. Thinking on such a thing was worse. Yet he knew he could not erase the mage from his mind. He had admitted as much to himself. He could not so easily forget that the mage was now _Anders_. He could not so easily forget the trembling of his body, the flush of his skin and the way Fenris' name had tore from his throat.

The press of his leggings was too tight. Fenris groaned and reached down to readjust himself but as soon as he pressed his hand to his crotch he hissed out a sound of pleasure, just holding himself instead, fingers cupping around the bulging of his cock. It had been days now. Days of thinking about the mage beneath him, writhing and moaning and begging Fenris to fuck him. Days and long, long nights of Fenris recalling each inch of Anders' body in erotic, graphic detail.

He pressed the heel of his hand down and lifted his hips to meet the pressure. No, it was better this way. This only proved that he had let himself fall too deep. This was a distraction he could ill afford.

Yet the throbbing of his cock continued. He lifted his hips again and his mouth fell slack at the remembered imagery of the mage on his knees, lips pressed to swollen member. Fenris bit down on his lip, hard, and the pain snapped him back.

The laces of his hose were pulled free and he shoved the black material down to his knees. Cold air rushed against his hot skin and he thrust his hips up from the chair. It would not feel as good and the end gained nothing but disappointment, Fenris knew this, but Maker, how he wanted.

He wanted the mage. Wanted him more than common sense could dictate. Fenris did not have the right words for his feelings. His emotions were so tangled in pain and suffering, how could he ever know that what he felt was true. He could not imagine it could be - Anders was the symbol of everything he had grown to hate. He should despise the man.

Except Anders had been nothing but kind and warm to him. Had held him, kissed him, made Fenris feel things he was not sure he was capable of feeling. Made him feel as though there was hope.

He wrapped his hand around his cock and ran his fingers from shaft to end. The flushed head ached and Fenris pressed his thumb to the sensitive spot just under the tip. His hips snapped up. He tightened his hold and thrust his hips up again. It was wrong - too dry, too hard. He yanked his hand away and sat for a moment, just staring at his swollen cock, as though will itself could make it vanish.

Because that had worked so well for the past four nights. Four nights of rolling in bed, sweaty, his member swollen in his smalls.

The black leggings fell to the floor and the leather jerkin followed. The cold air sliced against his skin but he ignored the chill. Fenris stood and went to the shelf, shuffling through rubbish - broken bottles, discarded and damaged books, an empty plate - until he found the vial of sword oil. It immediately set his mind racing. Anders on his back. Anders holding himself open as Fenris pushed slick fingers inside of him. Anders crying out his name, begging for release.

It would do.

He took the vial with him. If he could not have Anders then he would remind himself why pleasure was such a foreign concept. He uncorked the bottle and covered his hand in oil. It ran down his skin and dripped onto his stomach as he laid back, head supported by a pillow that still smelled of fresh, warm cotton. He turned his head slightly and wrapped his fist around his cock. Pleasure flared behind his eyes and he thrust up into the circle of his hand. It was a pale comparison to the tight heat of Anders' body.

If Anders were here doing this it would have been slow. The mage would have explored Fenris' length, touched each inch of skin with a patience and fondness Fenris had never known and come to bask in. There would have been slow kisses and his fingers buried in Anders' hair, tugging him closer. There would have been Anders.

Fenris would not give himself that. It was wrong. Such things were not meant to happen. Until Fenris was free of Danarius he did not dare hope for a life where he could make his own choices - even a life where he was free to care for a mage. Until Danarius was dead the word 'mage' was a curse.

But his body remembered. Remembered the soft skin under his, remembered the scars and hair, remembered the quaking muscles and shivering flesh. Fenris grunted through gritted teeth. His body prickled with energy. He could remember the feeling of Anders' magic flowing through him, an endless loop between lyrium and the Fade that had them both humming with power. Anders' skin had glowed beneath the light of singing lyrium.

His head pressed hard into the pillow. He fisted his hand faster around his aching cock. His own fluids leaked onto his hand, mixing with the oil as he slid his fist around his flushed, swollen shaft. The lyrium resonated within him, aching towards something that was not there.

He whimpered. The sound was not dignified. Fenris took the pillow from behind his head and clung to it, needing something to hold onto, something that smelled of the man if he could not have Anders in his arms. 

A mage. A mage! But the word just didn't stick, not with the same vehement hatred as it once had. 'Mage' had become 'Anders', and towards Anders he could feel no hate.

Such a thing was doomed, Fenris knew this. It was not even worth entertaining. Not now, perhaps not ever, but that did not stop him from crushing his nose to the pillow and inhaling until he felt dizzy, his hips driving up against his fist. If he closed his eyes he could imagine Anders above him, his tight body closed around Fenris' length, muscles spasming around him as the mage came across his chest.

Fenris arched his back and bit down into the pillow. The feeling of coming inside of the mage's tight body-- He gasped and cried out and grasped himself too tight as he felt himself fall from the edge. His whole body convulsed and he saw white. His legs trembled, muscles aching as his cock spurted hot semen across his stomach and chest. 

He stared at the ceiling but didn't see. His breaths came fast but he could get no air. His eyes burned and it was tears that prickled the corners. If hours had passed, Fenris would have accepted the loss of time as his body wound back into itself from where it had shattered into thousands of pieces.

Fenris raised a shaky hand and looked at the mess he had made. He...he could not. He had never...

He lay staring up at the dark ceiling, gasping, legs trembling and could still think of nothing except Anders.

 

 

It was Hawke who came to him in the end, banging on his door late into the night. Fenris didn't answer but that never stopped Hawke. She let herself in.

Fenris would not run from her. He would not hide if she came to him. But he did not want her - not anymore.

Hawke folded her arms but unfolded them just as fast. She fussed with her hair, with the end of her sleeve, fiddled obsessively with her knife. Fenris waited.

He had nothing to say to her.

"Fenris...there's trouble. The docks--" She pressed her fist to her lips, thinking. "The Qunari are rising. I only heard through my sources. They'll be in Hightown soon. I... I need your help."

"And what would you like me to do?" Fenris asked. "The Qunari have waited. This was expected."

"I know. Look, I know. I just... They're going to kill a lot of people - innocent people! - and I don't want that to happen."

Fenris waited for more but Hawke had no more. No ulterior motive, no questing for treasure or glory. She looked at him and he saw fear and maybe a small part of the Marian Hawke that had fled Lothering years ago. One that had seen an unstoppable force slaughter hundreds - thousands - of good men and women. One that wanted to spare her family the same fate.

"There is no way to stop this insurgence," he said. "The Qunari see all those who live in Kirkwall as filth to be kicked out of their way."

"Fenris, please. Just...do something. Take your sword and kill some Qunari. Don't you care about anything? The Alienage? Your friends?"

Fenris twitched. The Qunari compound was at the Docks. From there many passages led straight to Darktown. The Commons were too close to a number of main passageways beneath the city. The clinic was too close.

He stood and reached for his gauntlets, sliding each one on with not another word to Hawke. She was watching him, her body still.

"You mean to go to Darktown," she said when he lifted his sword.

"Yes."

"Why...?"

"Because he took nothing from me," Fenris said and left. Hawke chased him out onto the streets, her boots barely making a sound as she ran out of the manor. It was still quiet in Hightown, the residents asleep and blissfully unaware that the rising smoke signaled their end.

"Isabela is gone," Hawke yelled.

Fenris stopped and turned to look at her. At a Hawke who cared for something - someone - other than herself. 

"The only thing she left me was a note. She...she took that damn book of theirs. The Qunari are here because of her."

"She will not return."

"No, she won't. She...uh... Fenris, I..." Hawke could not say it. She could not bring herself to apologize. She could not bring herself to beg forgiveness of anyone. Hawke was not that person.

And Fenris wanted nothing to do with her. "I am going to Darktown. I shall help all that I can."

"That's all I'm asking."

She did not follow him again. Hawke went one way and Fenris went the other. If he was to embroil himself in something that had little to do with him, it would be on his terms. And he would assist the mage.

That was his choice.

Blood-splattered and humming with the song of the Fade, Fenris fought his way through the Qunari blockades and down into the city's underground. The Qunari were smart, using the town against its citizens, just as the Magisters had done with their slaves. The city was sectioned, forces quartered and the Qunari brought all to their deaths. Few were spared; children, women or men who succumbed to the will of the Qun. They would serve or they would die.

Darktown was almost unscathed. The Qunari had moved up the steps into Lowtown \- they meant to take the city and control did not exist in the underbelly. Fenris brought down one Qunari that lay in ambush near the underground's main shaft, waiting for those who thought to escape either up or down. Across the Commons the clinic's lanterns were out, doors shut. Fenris made his way over and leaned against the door. Now that he had stopped the pain woke in him. Blood ran down his leg, pooling at his feet. He banged on the door but there was no answer.

"Mage! It is--" He frowned. "It is Fenris." 

He heard a noise from inside and then shuffling and finally the door opened. He almost fell into the room. Anders gasped and grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him upright.

"Maker! Fenris, what happened? Quick, come lay down. Lirene! Get some water and bandages!"

Across the room a woman jumped at the command. The clinic was full of people - mostly women and children hiding from their fates. Fenris frowned and looked up at Anders.

"You make a target of yourself."

"These people need my help."

"Then I shall remain."

"Fenris, you've got a bloody spear through your leg! You're not helping anyone. Andraste's Ass, you can be foolish!" 

Anders helped Fenris across to a table and sat him down. It was the first good look he got at the wound. Through his thigh, just above the knee, was a broken spear. He had barely noticed, so had been his one-minded determination to come to the clinic. He vaguely remembered pain as he headed down into Darktown, and then the lack of movement in his leg that had hindered his motion. The spear had missed the joint but sat lodged into his flesh and ligaments. Sitting was agony and he had to perch awkwardly, trying to take the weight from his feet.

"Sweet Maker, Fenris. Why did you come down here? You should have just stayed at home. You would have been fine! Maker knows your place looks abandoned. Foolish, aggravating elf!"

Fenris smirked, his breath coming in short puffs. "Hawke and I came to an understanding. I would assist those I could as I came to Darktown."

Anders placed his hands on Fenris' leg and the soothing touch of his magic drowned out the pain. The tide of blood slowed and then stopped and Fenris was barely aware of the shaft of the spear sliding out of his flesh until it hit the ground with a wet smack. Another wash of magic flooded over him and his eyes rolled back. Fenris closed his eyes and wound his hand into Anders' hair, holding himself upright. Despite the audience and despite their situation, Anders did not complain.

"You should not have come," Anders said, quieter now so that only Fenris would hear.

"And yet here I am."

"You have ignored me for days, Fenris. How long did you expect to hide?"

Fenris couldn't answer him because the answer was 'forever'. He had not expected to address the issue and even though he was here, he still would not. He had so many words he wanted to say to Anders and yet he could voice none. Fenris stroked Anders' hair beneath his hand and the man leaned into his touch so he jerked his hand away. 

Perhaps he should not have come.

"We will have to help Hawke," Anders said. "She will find the Arishok to end this."

"She is in Hightown."

"Then you'll go? I didn't think you would want to be around her. I can barely bear her company."

"Hawke is no longer in my mind."

Anders tensed and for a brief moment his eyes flicked up and his gaze met Fenris'. Until he looked away and the moment was gone. "How is your leg now?"

"You have been thorough...as usual. There should be no scar."

Anders stood and spoke with Lirene for a moment, taking the bandages and water from her. The people in the clinic were staring at Fenris; children with wide eyes, women shaking with fear, men ready to protect their families at all costs. And they all trusted Anders to guide them.

"Let me clean you up a bit," Anders said and dipped some of the cloths into the water. Fenris frowned but didn't move.

"This is not necessary," Fenris said.

"Probably not but you're scaring people like this." 

Scaring 'people' seemed to Fenris a poor estimation of what was actually happening. Scaring Anders was more likely. So he let the mage wipe away the worst of the blood and bandage around the ripped cloth of his hose. The wound was gone but the flesh was pink and tender still and would be for some time.

"Lirene, we need to go after Hawke," Anders said.

The woman nodded but wasn't quite able to keep the fear from her expression.

"If you need, go through the Amell cellar. Bodahn will make sure everyone is safe."

"You would send these people to Hawke's estate?" Fenris asked.

"Hawke may be a lot of things but she still offered her estate as a refuge should I ever need it, so yes, they will go to Hawke's estate. Get your sword." Anders tightened the laces on his boots and then grabbed his staff from the back.

They didn't speak. When it came to battle, they didn't need to. Anders carved a path ahead of them; barricades were destroyed and Qunari were thrown aside. Fenris cleaned up, utilizing the confusion and bringing the warriors down. Making their way through Lowtown was easy enough. Hightown was a war zone. Fires spread to buildings, abandoned stalls trashed and broken. Fenris went to run up the stairs but Anders grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

"Shortcut," was all the mage said. Fenris followed him. After all, the mage frequented Hightown often and was never stopped by Guards or Templars \- he knew how to stay out of sight.

They crept past groups of Qunari and flaming blockades and headed for the Keep. If Hawke was anywhere, it would be at the seat of power. Fenris let Anders lead him, watching the mage just as carefully as he watched their surroundings. Anders in battle was very different to the Anders he had come to enjoy spending time with. The mage's skin was cracked with light of the Fade, the line between Anders and Justice blurring even further. It pulled at Fenris until he felt his skin hum with power; if the mage touched him it felt like a surge of electricity. So Fenris kept enough distance that he could concentrate on their situation but stayed just close enough that he was reminded of Anders' presence.

Anders slammed himself up against a wall and grabbed Fenris by the arm. Fenris hissed but let the mage drag him into cover. A Qunari patrol passed them. If it had been Fenris he would have fought his way to the Keep, leaving a trail of blood and bodies. He did not like hiding. But he saw the sense in the mage's tactics. They were but two and while skilled and highly trained they would quickly be overwhelmed. They needed to make it to Hawke where they could be of the most help.

They burst into the Keep and almost ran straight into Merrill. The blood mage was holding the gates - alone. She smiled upon seeing them and the leaves that had spiraled around her feet dropped and fluttered away, caught on an otherworldly breeze.

"Oh, it's Anders and Fenris! I thought you were another Qunari. Though you're much smaller... They're very big, aren't they?"

"Where is Hawke?"

"I think she went to see the Viscount. What do you think is happening? I didn't really ask when Varric came to the Alienage. Are the Qunari mad?"

"Something like that. Come on, Merrill. No use staying here by yourself." Anders ushered her ahead of them.

A nobleman ran past them, screaming, and was cut down by a Qunari. Merrill ensnared the beast, bringing it to the ground and crushed its skull. Anders wrinkled his nose and took a step away from the blood mage and closer to Fenris.

The hall up ahead was silent but the bodies of Qunari, humans and elves alike lay across the carpets, blood seeping and intermingling in the fibers. Anders dragged Merrill away from the bodies of two elven girls, likely servants, and their group burst into the Throne Room and the chaos within. Fenris almost ran head first into a Qunari Saarebas who snorted at him and lashed out. It was Merrill who saved him, stepping in front of him, covered in the magical rock armor she had learned to wield. Fenris cut the creature down and moved on. He could see Hawke on the steps, shadowed by the huge, hulking form of the Arishok. The massive blade swung at Hawke's head and she disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

How she hoped to battle the Arishok, Fenris did not know. Hawke was a rogue. She lay traps, executed her enemies with stealth and poisons - she did not go into one-on-one combat with a creature three times her size that wielded a blade larger than her body. But he could not get to her across the room. Sebastian and Varric were with her, up in the balconies, arrows falling like rain.

"Fenris!" Aveline called. She came to his side. Fenris could see many of her guards dead or injured.

"The Arishok means to take the city," Fenris concluded.

"The Viscount is dead." Aveline raised her blade to fend off a warrior. Fenris heard the screech of steel. His brands flared as Anders' magic pulled at him from somewhere in the fray. He saw the mage near the wall, shielded by a dome of magic as he hurled fire at a Qunari Arvaarad.

"So too shall be the Arishok," Fenris said. Aveline left him and went to Merrill; the Dalish girl needed more help than Fenris. Fenris had his own charge to worry about. He slay one of the Qunari mages, pausing only a moment to see the stitches that held its mouth closed, and pressed on to where Anders had been backed into a literal corner. His brands were hot, pain lancing under his skin as he leapt forward. He phased his hand straight through the chest of one of the great creatures and clutched the massive heart and ripped it free. A surge of ice swept past him and froze a Qunari, its sword held high as it swung to attack him. Fenris shattered the creature.

It was too easy to get lost in the heat of battle. His whole life had been lived on the precipice of death where his only salvation was his will to live. Fenris succumbed to the pull of the Fade, his whole body shifting from the waking world until he was nothing but a ghost. It felt like falling and never hitting the ground, suspended in the air like a bird.

All things fell back to the earth eventually. The Viscount had fallen and so did the Arishok. Fenris was aware of the Arishok stumbling back down the stairs, one of Hawke's daggers impaled between his eyes. The sword hit the stone steps first and tumbled down, followed by the huge body.

It was a cry of pain from behind him that sent Fenris hurtling back to the earth. The Fade rushed from his body fast enough to leave him breathless. He turned and saw Anders gripping his side where bright blood welled around his fingers. The Qunari lay dead on the floor at his feet, the long sword dripping. Fenris grabbed the mage and eased him to the floor as the cheer erupted from the crowd behind them.

"Heal yourself, Mage," Fenris insisted.

"Yes... I suppose that would be a good idea." Anders tried to laugh but it turned to an agonized cry of pain. 

Fenris smoothed back blonde hair as he held Anders in his arms. If anyone saw them he was not aware of it. He tore the bandage from around his leg and pressed the ball to Anders' wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. "Why do you hesitate?"

"Uhh... Lyrium...in my pouch. Please?"

Fenris let the Fade take him. His brands flared blue and Anders drew in a shuddering breath. "Heal yourself, Mage," he repeated and Anders nodded. One pale hand rested over Fenris' and he felt the draw of Anders' magic. He closed his eyes as the world shifted around him. He would give the mage all the mana he needed and did so gladly, but his eagerness did not improve the sensations. It was as though Anders was beneath his skin. He could feel the mage through his magic, a cord between them as Anders pulled from his endless well. 

"Fenris... Look at me," Anders said and Fenris' eyes snapped open.

He wanted to flee. Turn and run and not look back. Not at Hawke, not at his companions, not at Anders. Anders' eyes were warm and his expression gentle and the mage reached up and touched his cheek. Fenris startled but didn't look away until he felt Anders' probing magic recede.

"It's enough," the mage concluded. "Rest will serve me better."

"Then rest. I... I shall escort you to Darktown."

Their companions were purposely trying not to interrupt, keeping to themselves as they worked among the crowd. Aveline was organizing her remaining guards, sending patrols to inform the city of the Arishok's \- and the Viscount's - death. Varric was speaking to another dwarf, likely a member of the Carta. The news would spread and any remaining Qunari would be dealt with swiftly.

Fenris did as he promised and escorted Anders back to Darktown, using the Amell cellar shortcut so they did not encounter any further struggle. The mage was in no position to protect himself. 

"Anders! What happened?"

Fenris stepped back and let Lirene assist the mage. The clinic was still full of the scared Darktown residents, huddled together with mugs and bowls of soup and crusts of bread likely taken from Anders' stores. Anders would not eat tonight for the loss.

"Fenris, wait!" Anders called before he could make his escape. Fenris stopped, because he could not walk away. He flinched when Anders' hand landed on his arm.

"You are safe."

"You're really just going to run again, aren't you?" Anders asked and his hand fell away from Fenris.

Fenris didn't reply. He had no answer. He could not explain what he felt but he knew it was best left alone. He could not entertain these feelings. They would burn to ashes and he would be free once more.

"Fenris, please, just stay. Stay here tonight and...talk. Just talk. Stop running away and--"

"No. Such a thing is doomed. There can be no future for this."

Anders gave a derisive laugh and shook his head. "The fact that you say that just proves you've thought about it. But please, go hide in your mansion."

Moments passed. They were not alone, but the company reminded Fenris of his place. It was better this way. He was a slave running from a mage. He would not give himself to another. "I cannot do this," Fenris said. He took his sword and this time Anders let him go.

Anders had already given him enough. A sense of direction, a hint of freedom. He had released him from Hawke, offered him an alternative to her crushing, overwhelming companionship. Anders had given him a taste of something he had never known but he could not lose himself to it.

But that did not mean he would forget it. He could not forget it. One taste? It would never be enough and the memory would linger even after the emotions had run their course.

His mansion was cold and quiet. No scratching of a quill on parchment, no laughter. When Anders came he brought life with him. Purpose.

Purpose that Fenris now needed to find for himself.

Fenris sat at the desk, for lack of anything better to do with himself. He had made a habit of watching the mage or caring for him, in his own way. He touched his fingers to one of the books on the desk. Anders would want it back. He flicked open the cover and was met with page after page of indecipherable scrawl. But it was comforting. A sign that outside of this room the world was happening around him. A world that he could be a part of.

A tickle of something touched his bare toes. Fenris frowned and looked under the desk. He had to smile. A lone feather from the mage's ridiculous coat brushed against his foot, pushed by the draft that snuck in through wood and window. He picked it up in his fingers and twirled the raven colored feather. 

The mage would not miss one.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Whether he wanted to be a part of it or not, life kept happening. Kirkwall was changing and Fenris strove to keep up. Hawke was no longer part of his life but as Champion she had a way of pulling in those around her. She was the eye of the storm and you either stayed close or were destroyed.

Their paths crossed many times over the years. Fenris did not lack for work, even outside of Hawke's employ. He was a skilled warrior and physically intimidating - many traders sought his services to protect their goods or shipments once the word spread about his talents.

He worked alone but he was not alone. He had...friends.

It was difficult to think of someone as a friend but Fenris had no other name for the strange company he kept. The Starkhaven Prince, Sebastian, who Fenris had found himself talking to for hours into the morning light. The guard, Donnic, with who he spent nights engaged in card and board games and who had never pressed Fenris for his past or urged him to commit to any _feelings_.  The Dwarven storyteller, Varric, who Fenris enjoyed listening to even if many of his tales were fanciful. He did not spend all of his nights alone.

The passing of time was measured by the seasons, the rise and fall of the sun and moon, not by his actions. Duties blended into one another and he could hardly remember which job he had done for Aveline, who enjoyed the freedom his position outside of the guard granted her, or for a shifty trader, who liked that Fenris never asked questions.

He used his coin wisely. He purchased all he needed and used large sums to buy information. His sister, Varania, was indeed alive. He wrote to her, with Sebastian's assistance, and she wrote back. Fenris had never expected to have a sister, let alone to be writing to her. His letters were too formal and short and when he received replies he felt foolish returning to Sebastian so that the Prince could help him read the elegant script. Three years did not a master make when it came to reading, Fenris found. He could read little more than basics and his writing was poor, but he could do both which was more than any slave had the right to learn.

The rest of his coin was donated. Some to the Chantry after every job. Fenris did not know if he agreed with the Chantry, with their doctrine, or even believed in the Maker who was so absent from the world, but Sebastian asked it of him and Fenris complied. The Prince had shown him where the coin went - it was not used to line the coffers of the Chantry, but more often given to the needy, the poor and sick. The Chantry asked for donations from those it helped but what little they gave would not equal what they owed.

And some went to the Darktown clinic. After every job Fenris stopped at the Lowtown store and placed the coin in the donation box. He would not deny doing so if asked but none ever questioned. Lirene never spoke to him, only watched and nodded should he look her way. Sometimes he brought food, too. Baskets of apples and pears or fresh bread and cheese, which he would place on the counter in front of the woman. No words were spoken but he knew she understood for who the basket was intended.

For three years he had not spoken a word to the mage. He had seen the man, once or twice, either in Lowtown haggling for goods or at the Hanged Man when Fenris had gone to see Varric. Anders had met his eyes but neither stopped to say a word. 

Three years was a very long time.

Three years of loneliness, three years of want and unmet desire, three years of emotions that had not at all tempered the way Fenris thought they ought. He still remembered each inch of Anders' skin, remembered the way he sounded, the way he smiled and laughed, and especially the way he smelled. Something that Fenris was unable to replicate even with drying herbs hung from a bedpost and cotton sheets that started to bleach from the sun.

It was a foolish thing to be so caught in a memory of something long past. Life was there, waiting, and Fenris could still not seize it. The curse of Danarius hung above his head; his past as a slave, and a murderer. It could not be erased and it could not be forgotten until he knew he was finally free.

Fenris had expected Danarius to come for him. Hadriana, his favorite pupil, was dead. Killed by Fenris' own hand. He had expected Danarius to arrive and seize him, as though he had been lurking in the shadows the whole time. But time passed and the Magister did not come to Kirkwall and nor did any more of his guards or assassins. Fenris was not stupid enough to think his former master had forgotten about him. No, the Magister would not stop until Fenris was again his.

"Your sister intends to come to Kirkwall?" Sebastian asked, as though he hadn't just read the letter.

"It would seem so. I don't know what to expect from such a meeting. What is there to gain?"

"You have a family, Fenris. That is enough," the Prince said and Fenris looked away, feeling the guilt settle in his stomach.

He should not be so quick to pass up the opportunity. Sebastian knew what it was to lose a family. If he were offered the chance to gain it back, he would not hesitate. Fenris would honor that by at least meeting his sister.

"Yes, you are right. I just... I am..."

"You are scared. It's natural you should feel that way. Your sister has written little of your past in her letters, she should want to tell ye in person."

Fenris rubbed his thumb over the band of leather around his wrist, the feather tickling his skin. "Some things should be left in the past."

Sebastian watched him but Fenris never noticed it much. The Prince was perceptive and thoughtful. He stopped before he spoke and never acted without thought and Fenris had come to ignore the looks the man gave him or the way he hummed in thought should Fenris say something he found interesting.

Fenris thumbed the leather band again; twined pieces of brown leather strap twisted around his wrist holding the black feather by the calamus so it dangled freely against his skin. It had been a foolish, whimsical gesture but for three years it had stayed tied around his wrist all the same. The leather had worn but was kept clean and the feather had lost some of the barbs along the vane but otherwise it was still as identifiable as it had been years ago.

The naive blood mage had commented on it once and never again. Fenris had given her no answer. Varric had shushed her and the topic was not brought up between them. Even Sebastian had shied from asking. It was Fenris' memento and no one need ask about it. There was no story. It was not a token of love or commitment - it just was. A...memory. Something of Fenris' own that could not be taken from him.

Something that he had chosen.

"I would like to return a letter. If you would help me," Fenris said. "I... I will welcome her to Kirkwall."

Sebastian nodded. He took all opportunities to help Fenris with his writing or reading. Fenris did not blame him for his opportunism. He knew that he made a terrible student, prone to wild mood swings born of frustration where books were heaved across a room or an inkpot spilled in an act of childish rebuke. He thanked the Prince for being as patient as he had been over the years.

He did not know what he would say to Varania when she came to Kirkwall. Would he ask her to stay? Would they build the family here that he had never known in Tevinter? He could not imagine such a thing. 

And Danarius lingered in the shadows still. Fenris could not rule out the possibility of his letters being intercepted. He had been careful - extremely careful - but he knew Tevinter and he knew Danarius. If Danarius knew of Varania, she would have been watched. For years, probably. If she left Tevinter, she would be followed. A servant girl with little money had no reason to be leaving the city, let alone the Imperium, unless she intended to meet someone elsewhere.

And if Danarius came, Fenris would fall.

He did not like to think back on the past, on something that was over by his own choosing, but he was forced. His problem still remained. The problem he could not escape and for which he could ask the help of only one person. This was not something he could ask of Sebastian, or Donnic, and certainly not the dwarf. If Danarius came to Kirkwall, following Varania in hope she would lead him to his escaped slave, Fenris would be ready for him. 

He just had to ask. Ask Anders to help him, to forgive him, to forget what had happened three years ago and move forward.

But, Fenris was not sure _he_ could move forward.

 

 

He bid his farewell to Sebastian and took the finished letter to his contact. It would be smuggled into Tevinter and hopefully avoid Danarius' eye. Fenris took the same path to the clinic he had traversed many times. The years had done nothing to change Darktown. Some residents may have moved on but otherwise it was a static representation of the depths of despair Kirkwall kept hidden. The lanterns were alight outside the clinic and the doors open. 

Fenris forced himself to enter the clinic. He would not wait. If he did, he would not return. The clinic was surprisingly quiet despite being open. Just a mother and her child, a man clutching a bleeding arm, and Fenris saw Anders across the main room with a man on the clinic table. Fenris breathed out and as he stepped into the room his whole body shuddered. The clinic smelled of the fetid Darktown air, but of herbs and salve and especially of magic. He often wondered if he was the only person who could smell magic in a room or on a person. 

As if caught in the same sensation, Anders looked up and their eyes met. Anders frowned, his brows creasing and Fenris looked away, staring at his feet. Of course the mage would not be pleased to see him.

He stood on the opposite side of the room and waited. He could not watch the mage but he did not need to watch him to understand what he was doing in the clinic. Fenris felt every pulse of magic as it rolled over him. His brands hummed and he leaned against the wall, trying to stop his hands from shaking. It had been such a long time since he had felt the touch of this magic. He had encountered mages over the years, apostates and maleficarum, but none evoked the same response. Anders' magic was different and Fenris' body thrummed, a struck bell resonating in echoes.

Over an hour passed and Fenris thought of leaving. He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck and small of his back. With each pulse of magic his heart raced and his brands flared, skin tingling. It was not comfortable, though he could not say that it was unpleasant. Fenris was not sure what to feel. When Anders closed the clinic doors after extinguishing the lanterns, Fenris was incredibly grateful. Anders had sensed his discomfort. He had not come closer, but he stared at Fenris, confused.

"I apologize for interrupting," Fenris said. He mounted the energy to stand straight and under his own weight, ignoring the tingling in his feet and knees.

"It's fine. It's late enough and I haven't eaten yet," Anders turned and Fenris watched him as he gathered a plate and supplies from one of the rickety closets. The mage placed some cheese and bread on the plate and set it on one of the tables. "Someone keeps sending me food. I don't suppose you would know anything about that, would you?"

Fenris rubbed the band around his wrist, the leather soft under his bare fingertips. Sebastian did not like him coming into the Chantry with his gauntlets or sword. The sword could be left at the entrance while he visited - the gauntlets he had left behind entirely.

Anders sat and said nothing else. He broke some of the bread from the loaf and cut the cheese into slices. He seemed not to even care that Fenris had interrupted, going about his business as he would have if alone. Fenris wet his lips with his tongue and waited, awkwardly, watching the mage.

He had not realized how many little things he had forgotten about the man. The piece of hair that always fell loose and got in his way. The way he looked when he ate, where he seemed to recede into himself as he was now, leaning on his palm, elbow on the table. 

Anders ate two more pieces of bread and cheese, seemingly content to make Fenris wait, before he spoke. "Fenris, why are you here?" he asked, looking up at the elf.

Fenris met his gaze and forced himself not to look away. He remembered staring into those eyes, remembered the fervor and the kindness and warmth where he saw confusion and hurt now. "I require your assistance."

"Hm. You required my assistance once before. About three years ago, was it? What is it? Having trouble with itching because I have a cream that clears that right up."

"...no. I am not...itchy." Fenris did not want to hazard what the mage implied. "I can ask no one else."

"And you're sure you're not itchy? All right, then what is it?"

"My problem has not changed, Mage. I require the same help as before. There is no one else."

"You sure? Ask Sebastian. I hear he had quite the past before he became the good Choir Boy. I'm sure he would jump at the chance to help you with your problem." Anders folded his arms but unfolded them just as quickly, picking something from his coat instead. A black coat.

"You changed your coat."

"I also cut my hair and bathed occasionally. These things happen in three years."

Fenris frowned. This was not going well and he did not know how to make it go right. He had not thought of what he would say to the mage. Most, if not all, of his thoughts had skipped the awkwardness entirely and ended with Anders naked.

"I can't help you," Anders said and took another piece of bread. "Though I thank you for the gifts."

"I wished to see you well."

"Hm."

Fenris ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. The feather tickled against his skin and he took a deep breath. "Mage-- Anders..."

"Why do you have a feather on your wrist?" Anders asked.

Fenris lowered his hand and found Anders staring at the feather. The mage reached up to touch his feathered pauldron and Fenris drew in another shaky breath when Anders stood.

"That's mine...isn't it?" Anders asked.

"Yes."

"Why...?"

Fenris wrinkled his brow, his lip twitching at the corner. Why? Because he found it. Because it was his. Because it was a memory. Because it had belonged to Anders. "I am unsure," he answered instead.

Anders huffed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course you are. Because you do blindingly stupid things like this and never think. You run off for three years because you don't want to stop and think and accept what you are feeling. So of course you're unsure." Anders shook his head. "And that's why I can't help you."

"Varania is to come to Kirkwall. I fear Danarius will follow her to me."

Anders stopped. The mage was frustrated, angry at Fenris, but he could be counted on to consider someone's safety and health and he would not turn his back on someone he may deem to call a friend. "You know for sure?"

"No. But it does seem likely."

Anders rubbed his chin and scratched at his cheek. Fenris could hear his nails against his stubble. "How long?"

"I have sent return letter to Varania tonight. It will take time to arrive in Minrathous to her hand. She would not come until she could be assured I would remain in Kirkwall to greet her."

"Enough, then. That gives you time." Anders pulled at his hair, tangling blonde strands in his fingers. "I can't believe I'm considering this! I should leave you to it. I should let Danarius have you, you blighted pain. Do you have any idea how crazy you've driven me for the past three years? I always thought, no, Fenris will come. He will give up this self-imposed solitude and he will come back. No, instead you send me bread and cheese."

"I could not--"

"Could not what? You have no excuse and no one to blame but yourself, Fenris! I tried to help you and you pushed me away and ran. And I thought I was the best at running from my problems..."

"Mage..."

"Now you come back asking me to help you after three years of not speaking to me. You come back with one of my feathers around your wrist like a damned prize! It's too late to court me, Fenris, if this is some misguided attempt at such."

"Mage!"

Anders paused and glared at Fenris, pursing his lips. Fenris could not help the very small but not very subtle upturn of his lips. Anders was still very much the same even when he had feared the worst. Varric had spoken of the destruction of the Mage Underground and resistance effort, the harsher penalties and amplified Templar presence and how Anders had grown increasingly distant and quiet, withdrawing into himself...or Justice.

"I do not know how to court anyone, Mage," Fenris said. "I should not start now with you."

"You could do a lot worse than me, you know. What about Aveline?"

"A fine, proud woman. Donnic is very satisfied."

Anders made a face, sticking the point of his tongue out in some form of disgust. Fenris smiled again - wider, free.

"Fenris, why has it taken three years? If it wasn't for your sister...would you have come at all?"

"No. I would not have."

Anders sighed. "You're confusing...infuriating...aggravating! I don't need to be mixed up in this again. I...I have work to do. Justice has work to do."

Fenris stepped forward and Anders moved his foot back but did not retreat. "You have let your spirit take too much."

The breath that left Anders was shaky. "And when you're close... Maker, Fenris--" Anders' eyes fell shut and he was silent for a moment, taking the time to breathe. "I forgot what it is like," he ended.

"I wish for your help, Mage. Please...do not make me beg for it. I cannot."

The mage's fists clenched at his sides, holding the edges of his dark coat. Fenris did not like it - he preferred the old renegade coat that Anders had likely worn to a scrap. The mage opened his eyes and reached forward. He placed his hand on Fenris' shoulder and did not look at all concerned when Fenris flinched. 

Anders hung his head, warm hand against Fenris' leather jerkin. "I should not entertain this at all. I should leave you, let you solve your own problem...but I can't. If I can help it, I will not let Danarius have you, even if that means fighting him myself. But I need you to trust me, Fenris. And I need to be able to trust you."

"I trust you with my life." Fenris could say such a thing without hesitation.

"Some fates are worse than death," the mage answered. "You have to promise me... You won't run. Even if you're scared, or confused, or angry...you cannot run. Otherwise this won't work. Understand? You have to give me your word."

How much was his word worth? He did not place much faith in his own morals - they had failed him too many times before. But Anders seemed to place credence in his oath, so perhaps it was worth more than he thought.

Fenris looked down and placed his hand over Anders'. The feather dangled against the mage's skin. "You have my word. As you gave yours to me."

That seemed to satisfy Anders for he nodded and turned his hand, taking Fenris' in his own. Anders gave his hand an affectionate squeeze and warmth flood through Fenris' chest. A warmth that seeped through the cold, lonely hole that had existed inside of him for all of this time. His brands hummed and he leaned forward, winding his free hand into Anders' hair. He had to lean up that annoying few inches, standing on his toes just to reach, but the soft press of his lips to Anders' was well worth it.


	14. Chapter 14

Dinner. Just dinner. Fenris had agreed to it because he didn't know how else to start. Three years had stolen all familiarity and closeness. The gap was now huge between them, an expanse that Fenris had no idea how to cross, just as lost as he had been the first time Anders knelt before him on the dirty clinic floor.

Simply picking up where they left off was not an option. He had left Anders before dawn broke and then hid when the mage came after him. He had not spoken to Anders in three years. They had nothing to pick up on, just remnants to be sorted and placed into the shape of a new relationship - whatever that might be.

The dishes of tonight's dinner were resting on the table in front of plates and cutlery. They would talk over dinner and... Fenris frowned. This was too unfamiliar. He had never done this. Anders had spent many nights at the mansion but they ate on the floor near the fire, sometimes not speaking at all. This felt like he was...courting the mage.

And it scared him. Actually, terrified him. Anders would do nothing to hurt him, but the man would push. He had made Fenris promise not to run, even when the situation was difficult or too tender to speak of, and Fenris had given his word. He would not lower the mage's opinion of him further by breaking that oath. The feelings, the thoughts, they were still there. Even after three years when he had hoped his interest would dim, the flame burnt just as strong; a point of light that flared inside of him whenever the man was near, when he inhaled the scent of Elfroot, or felt the pull of magic, regardless of caster. He had tried. By the Maker, he had tried to forget the mage, to return to thinking of him as nothing more than an apostate, a power-hungry rebel that would create a new Imperium in the Free Marches, but he knew it was not true. He could no more believe that than he could imagine Sebastian prancing naked with the Dalish.

He felt Anders before he heard a knock downstairs; a pull, a Siren's call to the lyrium burning inside of him. Now that it was close, his body ached for it. Fenris had no idea how he had suppressed this for so long.

The mansion downstairs was dark and as musty as always but Anders didn't mention it and did not even look perturbed when he stepped on a particularly soggy patch of mat that squelched underfoot. He just smiled at Fenris and motioned to the stairs and Fenris followed with an eagerness he detested.

"Smells good," Anders said and he looked at the table, the glasses, the bottle of wine brought up from the cellar. "I brought some fruit. It's all I had."

"You did not need to bother. I will keep you well fed."

Anders smiled and looked at the floor, some of his hair sweeping across his brow. "Yes...you have."

It had always seemed like the thing to do. Anders had so little and Fenris had much he did not need. Coin and provisions he had to spare. It had never felt strange but he also never had to face the mage and explain his behavior.

Anders spared him the embarrassment and continued, "I'm really starved, though. So if you don't mind, could we eat? Because it smells really good. I didn't know you cooked, Fenris."

"I do not. Orana made the meal. It is rabbit."

Anders sat at the table but was watching Fenris. "Orana? Hawke's servant?"

"Yes. I...see that she is well. That Hawke is treating her...justly."

"...and?"

"She is comfortable. But she is as I expect of a former slave; eager to please, fearful of reprimand or her master's fluctuating moods." Fenris opened the dish. The meal was nothing spectacular; roasted rabbit in a vegetable stew with fresh, crusty bread. Anders did not seem to mind and Fenris took his plate and served him a large portion and still knew the mage would return for a second helping.

They ate in silence. Anders' eyes glassed over and Fenris knew he was away, thinking on whatever it was he thought of when enjoying his own company like this. Hopefully without his spirit companion. Tips of blonde hair touched the mage's face, tickled at his neck and Fenris wanted to push them away and thread his fingers into the sleek hair. He wanted to touch his fingers to the tinge of heat on the mage's cheeks and throat. He did not want to be here, separated by the table and meal between them. 

The divide was still too great.

He ate little but Anders did return for the second serving, as Fenris knew he would. It was nice to see him enjoying the meal, not at all ashamed for eating enough for two strong men. He was a Grey Warden - they were to be afforded some leniency. 

"Did you not feel that as a Warden you could do some good for Thedas?" Fenris asked, his mouth leading before his mind could withhold.

Anders looked over and was silent as he chewed the mouthful of bread and stew. Slowly, thinking. He took a sip of the wine and then shrugged. "It was...safe. The Templars could not touch a Warden. There are blood mages who exist within the Wardens who are free to practice and are never brought to justice. Wardens deal with their own." Anders took another sip of wine.

"I had never thought on the freedom of other mages before Justice. But no change would come from staying. They are not concerned with anything other than Darkspawn and the Blight. They don't involve themselves."

"Yet you would have held your freedom for life."

"A life that could be cut short on the end of a Hurlock's blade at any time. A life spent crawling around the filthy tunnels of the Deep Roads. I prefer my hovel, thank you."

"Would you have stayed if not for the spirit?"

Anders shrugged again. "I can't say. But it didn't feel like freedom. I could laugh in a Templar's face but they still scared me as I walked through Amaranthine. The Warden-Commander ruled me. Told me where to go, what to do...how different is it than the Circle? A bit more fresh air and the more than occasional romp through the darkness in search of Darkspawn? They act as though it is a brotherhood - a family - but there is always someone you must report to, someone you take orders from. That is not any freedom I know."

"And for deserting?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard of anyone leaving the Wardens. When you join it's supposed to be for life. Your greatly shortened life. When you go through the Joining you are sworn to secrecy but if you try to leave...they cut you down. That is not brotherhood. It is like the Harrowing all over. If you refuse, you're made Tranquil. If they don't think you are capable, you're made Tranquil. If you take too long a Templar will remove your head while you are still in the Fade."

Fenris tapped his fingers and the tabletop and looked away. "I apologize. I have not chosen suitable dinner conversation."

"There was a time where you would have dismissed this as whining, Fenris. I like that you're curious to understand. I...like to hear of your life, too."

"There is nothing left that you do not already know."

Anders picked up his glass of wine and then stood. His plate was empty, nothing but scraps and crumbs of bread. "You say that...but everyone has stories. Come sit with me."

A chord hummed in his body at Anders' invitation. He grabbed his glass and stood and was pleasantly surprised when Anders took his spot in front of the fire - the spot he always had and Fenris has always sat beside, even when the man was not there. It felt familiar.

Watching Anders was almost an obsession in itself. Fenris found each little gesture, each movement, a rich and interesting display of the man's personality. The way Anders rubbed his cheek or chin as he thought, the small crinkle of his eyes when he smiled and truly meant it, the way his body relaxed when he felt comfortable and how drawn he seemed when he was not. Fenris sat next to him and just watched and enjoyed the company - the company that had returned to him and felt just as familiar and safe as it had three years ago.

Anders spoke of a kind of safety. He had said it himself - if Danarius came, Anders would stand before him and fight if he had to. He would protect Fenris and his freedom. Anders had protected him from Hawke - rescued him from her, in a way, when Fenris could not save himself. Even though he was physically stronger than the mage, Fenris did not believe for a minute that the man was weak. Anders could easily stand against some of the most powerful Magisters in Tevinter and hold his ground.

What mostly concerned Fenris now was that he was going to have to try to explain himself. He knew it was coming. Anders had been so disappointed in him, angry at having been ignored for years as Fenris hid from his problem. The mage would ask and Fenris would have to speak on the issue and he just didn't know what to say. It hung over them, a dark cloud waiting.

Anders faced him, his glass set back near his knee, almost empty. It was unnerving.

"You can't think of anything?" Anders asked and rested his chin on his hand and his elbow on his knee and managed to look so curious and naive.

"I don't know what you would wish to hear me speak of. Life as a slave is no enjoyable thing."

"Fenris, you could be talking about decaying fish and I would want to listen to you speak. Your voice just does things - it is utterly sinful."

Heat flared to the tips of his ears and he struggled for words, clearing his throat. "I... Yes, as you have told me before. I have trouble believing such a lie, Mage."

Anders sighed. "Mage... You wouldn't believe how long I've wanted to hear you call me that again. It's always 'Healer' or 'Apostate' or just 'Anders' with everyone... There's something in the way you say it."

"I do not always mean to. I would prefer to speak your name. I mean no insult."

"Insult? Hardly. I know insults, Fenris. Maybe...before...you spoke to me with contempt and used the name as a way to label me, to objectify and segregate, but it hasn't been that way for many years."

"Yet I would still prefer 'Anders'," Fenris said. There was something about speaking the mage’s name that brought him closer and made the situation more temporal - a situation he had placed himself in through choice.

A person he spent time with through choice.

Fenris jumped when he felt Anders' fingers on his leg, just below his knee. He looked up, startled, and Anders smiled at him. Fenris didn't move, just watching Anders' expression as the mage trailed his fingers up the black fabric of Fenris' leggings, tracing lines of what he knew to be lyrium under Fenris' skin. Anders knew the paths well. Fenris' lips parted and his tongue darted out to moisten the dry flesh and Anders' hand stopped on his thigh, thumb rubbing a small circle.

"You may stop me at any time," Anders said and Fenris nodded, aware that it was a dumb reaction.

Anders did not wait for Fenris to ask anymore. He knew Fenris was capable of asking for exactly what he wanted. More, faster, slower, all in his rich voice often run hoarse from exertion. Anders clung to the loose linen shirt Fenris wore and pulled him closer. His hands ran down Fenris' chest and touched the hem of the shirt before delving underneath. Fenris inhaled sharply.

Dinner. It was supposed to be just dinner. Because Fenris didn't know where to start but Anders seemed to have no such trouble. He pulled Fenris where he wanted him and then leaned forward and their lips met. There was little gentleness now; a burning, clawing need that suffocated Fenris. He pushed Anders back but there was only a moment of surprise as Fenris pushed forward, crushing the mage back to the floor and the rug in front of the fire. He paused only to move the glass out of the way and Anders gave him a smug, knowing smile.

"It was expensive, Mage," he said.

"Maker forbid we break more glass in your room."

Fenris cleared his throat and glanced away. "I... I have cleaned."

"I noticed." Anders ran his hands up the back of Fenris' shirt, resting finally on the small of his back and the lines of lyrium that converged there. He pulled Fenris down towards him until their hips met and Anders could push up against him. "Did you... Did you have company?"

The mage's breath came as fast huffs, excited by proximity, stimulation and need. Fenris' lips twitched into a smirk. "You are asking if I have taken another partner."

"No... No...not...yes? Did you?"

He searched Anders' face, watching his expression, saw the warmth in his eyes. Comfortable...familiar. Had nothing changed in three years gone? "I have not," Fenris said. "I did not wish for a partner."

Except that was a lie. He had not wished for anyone except the mage. There had been no lack of offers, either. At times, Fenris even found the Prince's gaze on him, heralding back to some hidden past that might be persuaded to resurface should Fenris initiate any intimacy. 

He was not interested. Fenris was single-minded, his passions bordered on obsession. He did not know how to live any other way.

He ran his hand down Anders' side, pressing against the warm fabric of his coat. He found the first buckle and released it, his hands working by memory. The coat was pushed open and Fenris could get his hands at the thin tunic underneath, pressing his fingers against the mage's ribs until he squirmed.

"Fenris...!" Anders whined and lifted his hips again, pushing up against the elf. "It has been...a long time for me."

Words weren't coming easily but Fenris nodded and leaned down again to touch his lips, lightly, to Anders'. That sweet, soothing tenderness was still there, eagerly dealt out by the mage. Fenris bathed in that warmth. A placated animal. He shivered and drew himself up against Anders, holding him down against the rug.

Anders wanted this. And Fenris did not understand. He had deserted the mage for three years, ran out in the middle of the night after the first intimate joining of their bodies. He had left with no explanation, no warning, and had not returned. He had not returned until he needed something again from the man.

Fenris pulled back and did not miss Anders' confused expression. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to scream in frustration. He wanted to push the mage down and tear his clothing from his body.

"This... This cannot happen again," Fenris said.

"You were the one that came to me, Fenris. You need something and I can help you."

The cold of the room assaulted Fenris as soon as he pushed up and away from the mage. He could feel a tie between them, something that wanted to tug him back, but he resisted and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Fenris... Three years ago you said that..." Anders swallowed and looked away. "That there could be no future in this. Yet, you're here now so clearly you were wrong. Whatever future there is to be had it seems I am bound to be near you."

"No!" Fenris whipped around and held himself back from throwing himself at the mage, to grab him and shake him and knock some sense into him before he continued to speak of foolish things. "You speak of dangerous things, Mage. You have misinterpreted our...relationship."

Anders sat, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't look up at the elf, staring into the fire instead. "Have I? Of course I have... This means nothing to you and that's why you're wearing a feather from my jacket on your wrist like a favor. Should I wear something of yours in return?"

Fenris growled and had to dig his nails into his skin to stop himself from touching the leather band twined about his wrist. "I wish for your assistance and nothing more."

Silence rolled over them in waves. Each lash that struck Fenris was like a physical blow and he took a step back and turned. He had no right to be mad at Anders. For once the mage had done nothing wrong. This was all to be blamed on himself.

"Get on the bed," Anders said, his voice like ice.

"You order me and expect that I should follow your command?"

Anders stood. He peeled his coat off and then pulled the thin tunic over his head. Fenris stared at the man's scarred back, remembering each line and bump and how the skin had felt beneath his fingertips. The mage was thin, but not as gaunt as before. He had been eating that which Fenris sent him.

"I'm trying to help you, Fenris. Stop being so obstinate."

He did as the mage bid, though he skirted around Anders and tried not to get too close, which was foolish, he knew. His problem involved acts of an intimate nature - there was no way around that. Fenris lay back on the bed before reevaluating and sitting up so that he could pull the linen shirt from his body. It landed somewhere near Anders' coat.

"Do you trust me, Fenris?" Anders asked.

Anders had his back turned to him - a plain of scars and smooth skin, hot and alive, once pliant under his hands... 

A loud ripping noise startled him out of reverie. Fenris startled and craned his neck, trying to see. "I trust you, Mage," he said when Anders said nothing more. "I have told you this."

Two long pieces of what had previously been Anders' tunic dangled from the mage's hands. He held them up to Fenris and the elf frowned.

"I am going to put these around your wrists and tie you hands to the bedposts. Do you understand?"

Despite what he said fear flooded through him; ice cold dread as he thought back. Images of Danarius, of Hadriana, his hands tied behind his back, chained to a bedpost, Hadriana taunting him as she placed food and water just beyond his reach and he had strained against his bonds until his wrists were raw.

He could not... Fenris looked up at Anders and before he could speak the mage was at his side, hands smoothing across his thighs.

"It is symbolic, nothing more. You can move through any binding I could use on you. You know this." Anders touched his cheek and then turned his face so that Fenris would look at him. "Do you trust me not to hurt you?"

Fenris nodded. It took no thought. He knew he would come to no harm at the mage's hands. Fenris took a deep, shuddering breath and held out one hand.

"Tell me... If you don't wish to continue, then tell me. I will obey, no matter what. I won't push something on you that you don't want."

Fenris frowned. He was not sure he wanted this. He did not enjoy being restrained or commanded to act. It was so deep-seated inside of him to avoid such a thing, to avoid any connection to his past slavery. He was so scared of anything that reminded him of his former life he let it control him. 

Anders tied one of the strips of fabric around his wrist, over the leather band. It was tight, but did not press hard into his skin. Even if he could not phase, Fenris could have easily ripped the tattered fabric and freed himself.

"This brings back...unpleasantness."

"Yes, it does." The mage leaned forward and, despite their squabble, pressed his lips to Fenris' cheek. And then his chin, his forehead and other cheek as he tied the second strip of fabric around the elf's wrist. "After... After leaving the Circle...I could not bear to have my hands restrained. Templars would always bind our hands in an effort to stop the mages from casting. Whenever I was with a Templar...they would bind my hands."

Anders touched his hand to Fenris' bare chest, raking his nails lightly across the skin. Fenris hissed but complied when Anders pushed him back down to the mattress. The mage pressed against his hardening nipples, tweaking the delicate and sensitive flesh. Fenris wrinkled his nose and his toes curled but he refused to show any other sign of enjoying the act.

"Through experience I learnt that being restrained during sex could be...well, very good. As long as you're with the right person. There has to be trust, do you understand?"

Fenris nodded. "I stand by my sentiment, Mage."

"Then you will understand that my restraining you like this is not a punishment, or a torture, but for your benefit?" Anders took one end of the fabric rope and pulled it up toward the bed frame, Fenris' hand and arm following as it was drawn up. He obliged, allowing Anders to tie the first scrap of cloth securely to the frame. He pulled at the restraint, experimenting with his reach and range of movement. He could not touch the mage or himself and his arms were drawn above his head, but he was not in pain. Fenris lifted his other arm before Anders could ask it of him, giving his approval. Both of his arms were secured above his head and he pulled at the binds again, feeling the bed frame shake. 

Anders watched him but soothed his hands over Fenris' skin, fingers moving between lines of lyrium. At the briefest of touches to a whorl of lyrium below his navel, Fenris gasped and his body jerked up.

Fenris went to pull his hands down to grasp the mage, but couldn't. "You are doing this to tease me," he concluded.

"No. I told you that this is not a torture. I'm going to make sure you enjoy this. Close your eyes."

"I will do no such thing!" He was already restrained - he would not lose his sight as well.

Anders chuckled. "You can open them at any point. I won't blindfold you. I-I can't stand to have my eyes covered either..."

The bed frame shook again as Fenris went to touch the mage. He growled, annoyed both at the inability to move and the reaction he had to soothe the mage. He looked up and Anders smiled at him. Even after three years Fenris found himself with the same compulsion to protect the foolish mage; to bring forth that smile, his laughter, his life.

"Close your eyes..." Anders repeated.

An exaggerated sigh left his lips. Damnable mage - he knew he would get his way! Fenris closed his eyes, squeezing them shut to resist the urge to open them immediately. The sensation of being bound and in the dark was not pleasant and he felt his heart skip in his chest as he swallowed.

"There...that wasn't so hard, was it?" Anders asked. "I'm going to touch you. Your chest. It's all right, I promise I won't harm you. I'll never harm you..."

Despite the assurance, Fenris flinched when Anders touched his skin. A tingle ran through the lines of lyrium carved into his flesh, running towards his extremities. Anders spoke to him in that cool, calm voice he used with patients. The voice Fenris could still hear when he needed it the most, even if the man was not with him. Fenris sighed and the muscles relaxed in his shoulders as Anders eased his hands over dark skin.

"I just want you to relax, Fenris," Anders continued. "Just keep your eyes closed and relax. There's no one here except us. Can I remove these?" The mage touched the hem of black leggings and pulled teasingly at the laces.

Fenris nodded and sucked in a quick breath as Anders pulled his laces open, thumb pressing to newly exposed skin. Even though Anders said they were alone, Fenris knew that such a thing wasn't entirely true. The mage was always joined by his...spirit. Though he was unsure of how little there remained of two separate entities now \- did Justice exist at all or were they so joined they had lost themselves?

"Mage..." he began and felt Anders perk to his words, "Of your spirit... Is Justice--"

"Of course he's here. He's always here," Anders stated. "If you're asking what he thinks...then I'm not sure. Justice thinks highly of you, Fenris, but I'm not sure a Fade spirit understands affection or lust. Things like this...bother him."

Fenris bit his lip as Anders pulled at the waistband of his hose. He assisted and lifted his hips and let the mage strip the material from him, leaving him bare to the room. He cracked his eyelids open just long enough to see Anders admiring him before he decided he did not want to watch.

"I know it is Justice's influence that tells me that you are a waste of my time. That you will never understand the plight of mages and that you will never assist us. Because I know better. You're not a waste of my time, Fenris. Not at all."

A cool hand rested on his hip and Fenris made a small sound, trying to hold back the groan of desire. Anders chuckled and Fenris could feel the man's breath against the skin of his stomach. His abdominal muscles contracted when he felt Anders' stubbled jaw touch his flesh and he made another small sound as he tried to hold a louder one back.

"When I'm near you my mind is clear," Anders said. "I didn't even remember what that was like." He touched his lips to Fenris' stomach and the elf twitched.

"The lyrium still affects Justice?" Fenris asked.

Anders nodded. More small, quick kisses were peppered across Fenris' skin and the elf squirmed each time. 

"Mage... This is teasing," Fenris said finally.

"Okay, perhaps it is a little," Anders replied. "But something about watching you writhe like that... Maker, Fenris, I think I need a change of smalls."

"You are vulgar."

"I am, indeed. Would you prefer I put my mouth to better uses?"

Fenris fell silent. He didn't open his eyes but twisted the fabric bindings, his wrists already pink from where he had been tugging at the restraints. He had thought about the mage on his knees like that so often. Anders was extremely...talented. 

"Should I take your silence as a yes or a no?" Anders asked, his voice barely a low hum against Fenris' skin.

"...yes. I have fond...memories...of such experiences."

Anders smiled and Fenris could feel the upturn of the mage's lips and he found himself smiling in return. Anders never seemed to mind his inexperience when it came to these situations. The mage had undoubtedly been with more experienced partners (after all, the man had slept with Isabela) but he seemed to find Fenris' awkwardness endearing. It was embarrassing but also filled his chest with relief - he wasn't sure he could do this with another.

His skin buzzed as Anders ran his fingers down bands of lyrium. Each line hummed and Fenris felt the vibrations run to the centre of him, working a path directly to his cock, now half-hard and warm. The mage understood how to play his body, using his own flesh and skin against him, eliciting responses he hadn't expected. A touch behind his knee made him twitch and sigh, the press of the mage's finger to a place on his rear made Fenris thrust his hips forward and up, seeking stimulation. 

A surprised grunt worked between his clenched teeth as Anders leaned close and pressed his lips to the lyrium-lined dick. Fenris hadn't been expecting it - couldn't see what was coming with his eyes closed. He tipped his head back as Anders' tongue probed at his length, swirling the flushed head, coating him with a dampness that the cold air stung against. A long swipe of Anders' tongue down his shaft had Fenris pulling at his restraints hard enough that he heard the fabric stretch, fibers snapping. He grasped the bed frame instead, his knuckles white.

The mage did not know that Fenris was capable of reaching his climax. When they had parted ways last the mage had commanded him to come, submitting to Fenris' pleading in the throes of heated passion. Fenris was not in the mind to tell him. It was awkward and he did not like to think of the implications. He was capable of orgasm only with the mage on his mind. It did not work with another. And while Fenris had not had any experience that would test his new found freedom, he did not think it would extend so far. His mind was controlled by the mage through his own doing - he did not wish for the experience with another.

Fenris thrust his hips up as Anders' mouth slid around his cock, all warm, wet heat and tight suction. He clung harder to the bed frame and groaned out a word that might have been the start of the mage's name if it had not been cut off by a cry of pleasure. Anders pulled back just far enough that Fenris could thrust up into his obliging mouth, something he was sure no other would let him attempt. Anders took it, his hand curled tight on Fenris' thigh.

Laying in the dark, unable to touch the mage, unable to bury his hands into his silken hair and hold him, Fenris felt strangely disconnected. Waves of pleasure washed over him, rolling through his body that didn't feel the mattress, or the sheets, or even the restraints around his wrists any longer. His body felt suspended in reality, as he did when he passed through into the Fade in battle. 

He had to open his eyes.

His body was aglow, but he was still very much held in the world. His whole being was pulled towards Anders and he looked down, watching the mage take his shaft with each snap of his hips. Anders blonde hair was falling about his face, his cheeks flushed and his skin cracking with Fade light.

Fenris groaned and pressed his head into the pillow. The restraint of fabric around his right wrist tore easily when he tugged hard enough as his muscles spasmed. His hips thrust up once more as he came, and then again and Anders pulled back. Fenris bit down on his hand hard enough to draw blood as his seed hit Anders' cheek and chin, coating his pale skin and the scruff of his stubble.

His vision disappeared as he closed his eyes again, breath coming in short, hard gasps, and Anders had not moved except for his thumb which rubbed gentle circles on Fenris' thigh. Now he wished he had told the mage. That was...disrespectful and an insult and... Fenris moaned. It had been so incredibly erotic.

"I... I-I apologize," he said, his voice trembling along with his muscles. He dared to open his eyes, peering up through his damp hair at Anders. The mage was still just sitting there between his legs, staring at him, confused but not upset. Anders raised his hand from Fenris' thigh and touched his stubbled jaw and the semen sliding down his skin.

"You can--"

"Sometimes," Fenris interrupted. The mage had a way of saying things that never failed to embarrass Fenris. "When I..."

Anders ran his finger through mess on his cheek and then brought his finger to his lips. Fenris trailed off, whatever he was going to say lost as Anders sucked on his long, pale finger.

"Why are you doing that?" Fenris asked. He could feel the tips of his ears burning.

Anders smirked. "Because it makes your cheeks go pink," he said and Fenris baulked and looked away. "I was surprised, Fenris, not disgusted."

"Yet you would... Your mouth...?"

Anders placed his hand on the mattress next to him and leaned down and Fenris held his breath. The mage's lips met his and Fenris didn't deny his advances. He opened his mouth and tasted his own seed on the man's tongue. Bitter, not at all pleasant, but Anders held him and pressed up against his skin and he didn't mind so much. He slid his free hand into Anders' hair and moaned into the kiss. 

Anders pulled away an inch to where their lips no longer met but Fenris could feel the mage's breath on his cheek. "When...?" Anders asked.

"After... After we..." Fenris gave an irritated growl, the words not coming to him. "I thought of you."

"And you've been able to come ever since?"

Another flare of heat touched his ears and Fenris felt them twitch against his hair. "...yes. When I think of you."

Anders didn't press it further. He reached up and undid the remaining tie around Fenris' wrist and pulled it free and then used the same piece of fabric to clean his cheek, wiping away the drying fluids. Fenris watched, biting at his lip and rubbing his wrist above his head. Anders leant down again and Fenris scrunched up his nose as the mage licked his chin.

"You are vile sometimes, Mage," he said and Anders sniggered.

"I could have left it on you. Let it dry. The only thing that's worse is getting it in your hair."

Fenris had the good grace to look repulsed. Anders only laughed again and any disgust he might have felt trickled away as he watched Anders' smile, listened to his laugh.

Saw Anders' _life_. 


	15. Chapter 15

Fenris sighed and relaxed back against Anders. The mage's long arms wound around his waist, hand splayed across Fenris' belly. Fenris knew he had not started the night like this but at some point he had either pressed himself into the mage's arms or Anders had grabbed him, seeking comfort or attention.

A small, niggling point of panic coiled itself in his belly. It told him to break free, to run, to keep himself away from the mage who wanted to possess him, hold him and keep him.

But Anders was no slave owner. Anders sought an equal. He had treated Fenris as an equal.

Fenris touched his fingers to Anders' hand, feeling the man's skin, the fine hairs that ran up his arm. Fenris' hand buzzed with sensation as each gold hair tickled his fingers and the rough skin of his palm.

The panic gnawed at him still. A dark creature in his belly that tried to rise into his throat and choke him. Fenris swallowed it down and took a shuddering breath. He had run last time. He would not again.

Three years later and Anders was still here. It was if nothing had changed. Three years and the mage had...waited? Had he waited? Or had circumstance kept him out of another's arms?

Fenris eased himself away. The mage made a small sound but didn't wake, his arms falling to the sheets with no elf to cling to. Fenris sat up and turned to face Anders, looking down at him. The mage wore nothing except the sheets tangled up around his legs and waist - no wonder Fenris had been uncovered, naked to the air. His lips twitched into a small, fond smile. Anders was peaceful in his sleep - at least for the moment. The lyrium seemed to lull him and his spirit and chased away the nightmares that dogged the mage's rest.

Golden hair was splayed across the pillow, tangled in places and in need of a wash, yet Fenris wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through the locks, tug Anders toward him by his hair and hold him. Fenris leaned forward and touched his fingers to a stray lock against the mage's forehead, brushing it away and letting his fingertips touch Anders' skin; soft and pale from a life mostly lived underground, a touch dirty with a streak of what might be soot just near Anders' temple. Fenris smirked - the man must have been working right up until he left for Hightown and hadn't had time for a bath. Fenris could correct that. The thought of bathing with the mage again pleased him.

He ran his fingers down Anders' cheek, past the deep shadows under his closed eyes, and to the stubble on his jaw. Fenris ran his palm against it, an excited shiver running up his arm and into his core. Elves did not grow hair like this and feeling Anders' stubble still gave him a rush. He wanted to rub his cheek along the man's jaw, kiss Anders' chin so that his sensitive lips felt the rough hair.

Down further he touched Anders' neck, saw a hint of a scar just above his collarbones, and then ventured down to the man's chest. More hair here, golden-red against pale, pale skin. Fenris ran his hand through it, letting the hair brush between his fingers and down the length of his palm. Anders' stirred and Fenris froze, but the mage's face remained static in sleep. He had not woken and Fenris was free to continue his explorations.

Closer, when he leaned down, Anders smelled of Elfroot and pine, salves, and a deep, earthy musk that filled Fenris' nose and sinuses when he breathed in. His head clouded with it and he closed his eyes, just breathing, his hand pressed to Anders' chest.

If he wanted, the mage could be his. He would keep him safe, keep him healthy and warm, give him all the attention he craved. _If_ he wanted.

He was not sure what he wanted.

This was not supposed to be. But three years of longing had weakened his will somewhat. He had the mage here - right here! - and if he so chose the man would never leave.

But Anders was still a mage. Still possessed by a spirit that seemed more vengeance than justice. Anders' life was as controlled as his own.

Lower down Anders' body the hair darkened and thickened, drawing a line straight to his groin. Fenris felt the tips of his ears heat and he rubbed at one point. Anders' penis was flaccid, laying against his thigh, nestled amongst the darker thatch of hair. He was thicker and longer than Fenris' and Fenris knew how much bigger the man grew when aroused. The heat ran down his ears to his cheeks and he felt his ears twitching against his head. He should not be outwardly staring at the man's genitals. It was not...right. Or sane.

He looked away and folded his arms across his bare chest, only then realizing how his brands hummed, lyrium lighting his skin, glowing in the dim morning light. He ground his teeth together but found himself looking back at the mage, letting his gaze rake over Anders' body - the body he had stroked, touched, _claimed_.

The man he had walked away from.

This was ridiculous. Fenris had no time for...whatever this was. He didn't know what this was. He had gone to Anders for help, not expecting a friendship with the man. Certainly not expecting a...relationship.

A relationship. Even the thought sounded ridiculous. Anders was a mage and Fenris was a runaway slave and that could not work. He ground his teeth again until his jaw pained him, sharp stabbing agony shooting up to his head.

He didn't need to think about this. He hadn't the time. Danarius was coming, Fenris knew it - could feel it in his skin, a crawling and burning like hundreds of ants eating at his flesh. Danarius would come and Fenris would end him and finally be free.

Free... To be truly free. It was a gift that had no price. It could not be bought, could not be given to him - he had to take it, wrench it from his ex-master and then hold it forever. He would not lose his freedom once it had been gained.

He looked back down at Anders. _Especially_ not to another mage.

He touched his hand to Anders' chest and the man flinched, his muscles twitching and nose crinkling. Anders' eyes fluttered open and he breathed in. Fenris stroked his chest, a soothing gesture and completely involuntary. It worked. Anders' lips broke into a small smile and he looked up at Fenris; warm, honey-colored eyes bleary from sleep but looking only at him.

Fenris leaned down, his hand beside the mage to hold himself steady. Anders leaned up to meet him, their lips touched and Fenris wound his hand into the mage's hair, hand on the back of his head.

He could have this. And yes, maybe he wanted. Three years had told him he wanted. He craved the man as he did no other. His feelings for Hawke seemed to pale in comparison. He had not held Hawke, had not given himself to Hawke, had not claimed Hawke for his own. Anders had given to him freely and he would give Fenris his freedom or help him earn it back. His heart raced in his chest and the lyrium imbedded in his skin sung - sung to _Anders_.

Anders raised his hand, gripping at Fenris' hip, thumb pressed against the bone and tugging him down. Addled from sleep, the man had few faculties to come up with words or an invitation, just a needy pull and a deepening kiss. Fenris breathed in through his nose and then pulled back, away. The sound Anders made ran through him and clenched in his chest - the desperate whine and plea for attention pained him.

"Shh, Mage," Fenris said. He touched his fingers to Anders' lips and then pushed him back to the mattress. Anders flopped back, staring up at Fenris, gloriously naked with pale flesh and rich colored hair. Fenris breathed in again and felt a tremble run through his body, the panic rising and clawing into his chest, burning in his lungs.

He leaned back and sucked in another deep breath but his throat constricted. He looked away and then turned away, another tremble running up his spine, a sickness settling in his stomach.

"Fenris... Breathe, it's all right. Just breathe. Deep breath, okay?" 

The mage's hands settled on his shoulders and he tensed, trying to pull away, but the mage didn't leave and his voice continued the mantra - _breathe, just breathe._

With his eyes closed and arms tightened around himself Fenris did as instructed, breathing in time with the mage's commands. Breathe in, breathe out. He couldn't stop the trembling in his body or the ice-cold nip at his fingers but the nausea receded, not quite leaving but no longer threatening to bring up his dinner. Throwing up on the mage would not be appreciated, he was sure.

Anders' hands soothed down his back, stroking between lyrium branding and touching only skin. There was only comfort and reassurance in the touch, not intimacy, despite their bare state.

"Fenris, look at me." It was a common order, usually given when Fenris was overreacting. It worked every time. Fenris felt compelled to look up and look at the mage. He only ever saw comfort in the warm eyes and soft expression. It was all right. Everything was fine.

Anders drew his hands way, resting them in his lap instead. "What's wrong?" His voice still raspy from sleep.

White hair fell in front of his eyes and Fenris bowed his head, giving a small shake. He could not... This was not something he could explain to the mage. He just couldn't. But he had given his word that he would not run. Fenris looked up again and Anders just stared at him, his expression curious yet concerned. Fenris' gaze roamed over that face, noting each small wrinkle and the delicate frown.

He sighed. This was impossible.

Anders shrugged. He crawled back to where he had been sleeping and lay down, stretching along the length of the mattress, his long legs almost touching his feet to the end of the bed. He held his hand out and beckoned.

"Mage..."

"Fenris." Nothing more but clearly a reprimand. Just enough bite to ensure Fenris listened and did as the mage bid.

It took a moment. He did not want to follow the command, did not want to be in the man's arms as much as he did. His resolve was weak. He shifted closer, kneeling next to the man again, gaze traveling the length of Anders' body.

Did the mage want Fenris as much as he wanted Anders? Or was this just all a convenience? Fenris didn't know. And he could not ask. Asking would only speak of his affections. Feelings he was not even sure of himself. Emotions he just could not have.

He touched his hand to Anders' chest and saw the muscles tense under the mage's skin. Anders breathed in, his gaze trained on Fenris. Fenris didn't move his hand, just staring at it.

"You can," Anders said in a low voice. "Anything you want."

Anything. What did he want? Fenris didn't know. He knew that he wanted to touch the mage and hold him and join with him, take his body over and over and hear the man scream in pleasure beneath him. 

He ran his hand down Anders' chest, running his finger around the man's navel. Anders sighed and shifted his hips, just slightly. The wiry hair near the mage's groin was rough against Fenris' palm but he went no further. Anders was watching him, not saying a word. Fenris moved his hands to the mage's side, running up along ribs still too prominent beneath his skin. Anders flinched and squirmed when Fenris touched a sensitive spot just below his last rib. Stroking there again wrenched a small sound from Anders. Fenris smirked. He looked up and saw Anders' wetting his lips with his tongue, his head pressed back against the pillow, hands clinging to the sheets near his head so that he gave Fenris the room to explore.

Anders knew all the sensitive places on Fenris' body - he exploited them mercilessly when they were together. Fenris wanted the same advantage. The last time he had touched the mage like this he had been tentative. Not anymore. He had no reason to be shy or hesitant. Anders was spread out for him, long, pale body accepting and eager. The mage welcomed his explorations.

Fenris wandered his fingers along pale arms, ran his hands up to each wrist, pressing just slightly. Anders sucked in a breath and looked up at Fenris leaning over him. Fenris would not hold him down but the authority over the mage's body excited him. The way Anders stared up excited him. The mage beckoned him. Fenris pressed down harder, his hips pushing up against Anders' side and, unbidden, he felt himself thrust against the mage's warm skin. Anders sighed and again licked his dry lips.

It was all a tease, Fenris knew. The mage was accustomed to having his way. Fenris could feel his branding hum with anticipation, every inch leaning and craning towards Anders as if it could leave his skin if it tried hard enough. It pulsed in time with his heart, mimicking his life. This had never happened with another - not with Danarius, not with that witch, Hadriana. They had both used magic on him and forced his markings to respond, but never had it happened without intervention. 

The lyrium, as much as he loathed it, was a part of him, as much as his organs or his flesh and skin. It was a part of his life and Fenris used it as he would an arm, felt it inside of him like blood. But lyrium responded to magic, was drawn to it, and Fenris could not stop that pull, but never before had it sought another host, craning towards another in such a way that Fenris could physically feel a tug. Not until Anders.

When he cast his mind back he realized he had always felt the draw. It had always annoyed him. He could taste Anders' magic on his tongue whenever he was in the man's presence. It had seemed to scream at him and that had done nothing to soothe his temper and hatred for magic or the man who wielded it.

Anders craned up towards him, his nose brushing Fenris' chin, lips able to just swipe his neck. Fenris startled and looked down at Anders and his lips turned; a fond smile at the look of rejection and need on the man's face.

"You are like the cats you adore, Mage. Pawing for attention."

"Then do not make me paw," Anders replied, his voice still hoarse, barely loud enough to hear.

Fenris chuckled. Anders was not pressing him for more. The mage wanted no commitment from him, no declarations of love or adoration, no vows of togetherness. Anders had asked nothing from him except for the assurance that he would not run. He felt he could obey that one small request.

He pushed Anders' hair from his forehead and carefully tipped the man's head back against the pillow, exposing the long, pale neck for his advantage. Anders' made a noise Fenris would expect from a kitten - a pleading mewl for attention. He grazed his teeth along the white skin, feeling the pulse beneath his lips. Fenris moved, resting his weight on one knee, one elbow, and shifted his body over the mage until their skin met. He had to reach down and drag the remaining sheet away that still covered Anders, wanting nothing between them. It had been too long for this. He had waited and longed in solitude for three years with memories of just one night to sustain him. Fenris wanted more memories; something of his that he could recall. Something to never forget.

"Maker-- F-Fenris..." Anders canted his hips up against Fenris' thigh, seeking the pressure and touch. Fenris pushed forward again, his thigh rubbing the mage's cock. Anders whimpered.

Making the mage beg and writhe was nothing short of perfect. Fenris could not help the lust it stirred within him to have a mage at his mercy. Perhaps it was sick but the thrill of it could not be compared. He ran his hand down and clutched at the mage's side, just above the pronounced hipbone where he could drive his fingers into pliant flesh, where bruises would appear tomorrow if left unhealed by Anders. 

Anders grabbed him, winding his fingers into Fenris' hair and tugging him down to meet his lips. It was everything Fenris needed - desperate, aching, hot and harsh with a clink of teeth and the mage's tongue driving into his mouth. He thrust up against Anders again, his cock sliding against the mage' belly, red-gold hair tickling his length.

When he looked down, Anders' cock was hard and heavy with blood, flushed red and pink as it lay up against his skin. It curved slightly to the right, a shining drop of fluid leaking from the tip and sliding down its length.

"See what you do to me..." Anders said and Fenris looked at him. There were no jokes, no sarcastic quips, just Anders speaking a truth.

A slave wished nothing for themselves, and as a free man he had wanted nothing but his revenge. Now...he wanted. For the first time ever he wanted and he let himself have it. "Have you wanted me?" Fenris asked, but couldn't keep the tremble from his voice.

"Yes. More than I should." Anders pulled him back down, his fist tight in Fenris' hair. They both had gentleness in them but this was too raw. Anders' nipped at Fenris' bottom lip as his other hand clawed at the elf's back, tearing the skin in jagged lines with blunt nails. The slow slide of their bodies had Anders pressing up, his hips arched from the bed, trying to get more sooner and faster.

Anders was not accustomed to anything less than speed when it came to his own satisfaction. Taking his time seemed like too bizarre a concept. He always plunged forward; hot, blindingly good, drawing pleasure out of their bodies as he pulled magic from the Fade. With Fenris he would tease for hours, wringing pleasure from him until he was exhausted, but he gave no such time to himself. Fenris did not want speed. He wanted to touch and hold the body beneath him; claim it as his again so that the mage might not forget. But right now, the speed would hold him. Each bubble of emotion surged him forward, made him want more, made him move, move faster, harsher, taking what he wanted. Anders reached down and clamped his hand on Fenris' hip, pulling him forward each time Fenris moved his hips. He could feel the heat of the mage's swollen cock pressing against his skin, against his own, and each new slide of their sweaty skin wrenched another gasp from Anders.

His whole life, at least what Fenris could remember, had been so carefully constructed; each gesture, each movement a step in the elegant dance of combat. Even life outside of the fury of battle had been a fight - a fight to stay alive in a world where a Magister might kill a slave based merely on a whim. Everything he had ever done had been calculated and now he let it go, here, rutting like a teenager afraid of being caught. He let it go and he felt like he was choking.

The feather dangling from his wrist tickled across Anders' cheek, brushing against the flushed skin. He clutched at Anders' head, burying his fingers in Anders' rich hair as he kissed him. Orgasm ripped through him, first a pain, a clawing, a deep gnawing inside of him that felt as though it would tear him apart. Then relief as he came across Anders' stomach and chest, his hips never stilling as he thrust against pale skin. It was not the most amazing experience he had ever had with sex or foreplay but Fenris could not stop his body trembling as he gasped for air. He fell forward, head pillowed on Anders' shoulder. He wanted to scream, wanted more than anything to escape, and maybe more than that he wanted to cling to Anders, hold the mage against him and never let go. He had chosen this. This was his.

His head ached; a dull, thumping pain in his temples and behind his eyes and he scrunched himself into a tighter ball, pressing his nose against the mage's neck and inhaling deeply. The scent was familiar and settling and somewhere in his mind he heard someone singing to him; a soothing lullaby in a language he had not heard spoken to him in years. A voice he did not remember.

Fenris' eyes went wide. Burning sunlight seared his eyes and he had to look away. Varania called out something to him and he turned and ran back towards her and mother, the sand hot underfoot.

His mother had skin as dark as his own.

"Fenris! Fenris, look at me!"

Fenris squinted his eyes again, trying to block out the light. Bright, golden-red hair and a man haloed by the sun behind him. Fenris blinked and reached up and Anders brought him forward into his arms and was telling him to breathe.

Air flooded back into his lungs, burning down through his chest. His nails dug into Anders' skin but the mage said nothing, just brushed back his hair and down his cheek. Fenris pushed Anders away to arms length. Any evidence of the man's own state of arousal was gone and he was staring at Fenris with wide eyes, his fingers and hands shaking.

"Maker...! Fenris, you stopped breathing-- I couldn't--!" A hoarse cry worked its way up and from Anders' lips. He placed his hands on Fenris' shoulders, staring at him. His eyes were glassy. "What happened?"

Fenris frowned. He didn't struggle in Anders' hold but he had to look away. "I...remembered."

Anders cocked his head and his eyes crinkled just at the edges, confused. "Remembered what?"

There were some things he didn't want to speak of, especially to Anders. Three years ago he had run, scared of losing himself to the mage, scared of losing himself to his emotions, and now he was right back in the same position. He had promised not to run, so what did he have? He had Anders, here with him. The mage was not running, was doing nothing but accepting him and encouraging him. Anders _wanted_ him. He was _wanted_.

"This is more than I... I cannot!" He tried to turn but Anders pulled Fenris back to face him. Even now, the memories were leeching away, like water trickling through sand, evaporating into the day. He tried to grasp at the images, tried to focus on the color of Varania's hair or his mother’s skin, but both were gone and he was left with nothing but the knowledge of what had just happened.

"You're scared. Danarius isn't here. Hadriana is dead. You are a free man."

"They are gone... Mage, I--," Fenris let his voice trail off. "This is the first time I experienced any memory of a time before the lyrium was burnt into my flesh." 

Anders' hands tightened on his shoulders. Fenris wanted desperately to be alone somewhere he could contemplate what had just happened, perhaps recall just a detail of his mother or his sister. Solitude seemed a requirement for such an endeavor but Anders' hands were desperately tight on his shoulders, the mage's arms shaking.

"Mage...?" Fenris reached his hand out and touched Anders' jaw. The mage was looking at the sheets, at his bare legs, anywhere other than up at Fenris. He tilted Anders' jaw up and frowned. "You are crying."

"No I'm not!" Anders immediately objected and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. He swore something in his native tongue and pulled himself back, away from Fenris. "I was worried. Blighted elf! You weren't breathing and you collapsed on me and no magic would make you respond to me. Do you expect me to just brush that aside? Yes, I did bring about Fenris' death, oh but I didn't murder him, no, he came all over me and then choked to death!"

Anders huffed and grabbed the corner of the sheet and wiped furiously at his stomach and chest, trying to remove the already dry mess. "It's a little hard to take, you know. You work me up like that till I'm seeing Maker be damned stars and then collapse onto me, gasping for air. It's one way to chase away an erection, that's for sure. Never been limp so quick in my life."

Fenris was aware the mage was speaking mostly to himself but he couldn't help chuckle. Anders looked at him and pouted, his lower lip plump and flushed still. Fenris reached out and touched Anders' lip, running his thumb over it, the mage just staring at him.

"Why is it that you have not left?" Fenris asked. He moved his hand across Anders' stubble and jaw, tracing a line along where he shaved each morning with a sharp knife. It seemed entirely impossible to tame the man's hair, no matter where it grew on his body. 

Anders rubbed at his eyes again. "I don't understand. Why would I leave? I made a promise, Fenris. One I intend to keep."

"You made no promise to concern yourself as you do. Your only duty to me is to release my chain. Mage, this burden is not your own."

The bed creaked as Anders shifted closer. They were both still naked, Fenris hovering with the lightheaded feeling of orgasm (and apparent asphyxiation) not long past. Those details concerned Fenris little.

"I promised that I would help you, Fenris. This is part of helping you, even if you don't see it. You scared me to death! I was shaking you and you were looking right through me. I thought I\-- That I--" Anders bit down on his lip and Fenris could see the new pools of tears gathering in the corner of Anders' eyes.

"I am unharmed." Apparently that was not enough. Anders leaned forward and tucked his head under Fenris' chin, cheek on his chest. Fenris frowned but pulled Anders closer and let him rest there. He did not understand but he would cater to the mage's wants, no matter how silly they seemed. He wanted the mage to be content. He wanted Anders to be happy. One side of his lips quirked and a small laugh rolled up and out. Foolish.

It was done. This could not be denied. He had run, hid himself for three years and wanted nothing but the mage. He had been a coward and a fool, running from something he had not understood. He would have hidden himself forever if not for the shadow Danarius cast over him. Fenris had needed that catalyst, unable to move on his own.

He had Anders back in his arms and Fenris knew he could not let him go again. His emotions were tied to possessiveness, to passion, and he could not care without the strength of both. If he chose this, it was a certainty. Not up for debate or change based on whim.

The mage would be his. An apostate. A mage possessed by a Fade spirit who wanted to free every mage in Thedas. A mage who might bring about the next Imperium. A mage who cared for the sick and helped the needy. A mage who cared about others more than he cared for himself. A mage that Fenris felt sick at the thought of losing. That mage would be his and he would give himself to Anders.

He stroked Anders' hair. It was longer, hadn't been cut in months, and it touched the back of his pale neck now. Loose it fell into his eyes and framed his face and Fenris could tangle his fingers into it and hold Anders close. The mage curled against him, stroking his chest in small movements just above his heart, as if trying to remind himself that it still beat beneath the skin.

The word forgiveness tasted bitter on his tongue, but how could he hope to move forward if he did not address the past? "Mage...it seems now would be the time to discuss what happened three years ago."

Anders stilled. He said nothing until he moved away, but he wouldn't meet Fenris' eye. "Are you sure you want to talk about that?"

Fenris watched as Anders bunched the sheets around himself and fussed with his hair, all actions that kept his hands busy and mind along with them. No doubt he argued with his spirit, Justice surging forth to complain bitterly about Fenris' desertion. For that accusation, Fenris had no argument. "Mage, look up from the sheets."

Anders did as he was told, but not without another childish pout and no matter how hard he tried, Anders could not keep his eyes leveled on Fenris.

"I owe you...an apology. I wish for nothing more than your forgiveness. I...I was a coward. What I felt was...difficult, and confusing. The thought of being with another mage..."

Anders opened his mouth, but clicked it shut just as fast. He stared and then took a deep, shuddering breath. "I wanted you to forgive me, Fenris. But I don't believe you can."

"I didn't know you had need to apologize."

"I commanded you! I forced you to-- I'm no better than Hadriana. Or Danarius! Or Hawke... I should never have commanded you like that. I was trying to help you and I-- I didn't--" Anders put his own hands over his mouth and Fenris saw him biting his finger, trying to hold more back.

"I wanted nothing more in that moment than to lose myself within you." Fenris touched his hand to Anders' thigh, running up along the sheets that covered his skin. "I asked and you have nothing to apologize for."

"Just because it felt good doesn't mean it was right! Danarius has you trapped by this curse and all I did was strengthen the chain. I want your forgiveness but I deserve nothing."

Anders' hate for Danarius was clear in his tone and that made Fenris smile. It must have seemed weird to the mage, to smile after his words, but Fenris couldn't hold back the emotion now that it was out in the open. He had freed himself around Anders, let the mage in. The mage cared for him. No person in the time he could remember had ever cared for him.

"I thought I drove you away. That I had scared you. You knew I held your collar...and that I was capable of using it. Perhaps I would never help you. You never spoke to me and I didn't know what to think. And I couldn't... I mean, I tried! So many nights I came to Hightown and stood outside. I wanted to see you, Fenris." 

Fenris leaned forward on his hands and knees until he was close to Anders. The mage stared at him with wide, confused eyes, his breaths coming as short puffs of air. Fenris kissed him. He felt Anders tense and then slowly - very slowly - relax, until his body felt pliable beneath Fenris' hands.

Anders' eyes fluttered open when Fenris pulled back. The mage made to grab him again but restrained himself, catching his own hand instead and placing both in his lap, kneading the sheets. "I thought I would lose you. That Danarius would come while you were away from us and he would take you. And I would never know until it was far too late." Anders ran his tongue over his lip and touched his hair again, winding the ends between his fingers. "I would come for you. I swear. I would not let him have you. There would be no greater injustice."

Although Fenris knew Justice's thoughts peppered the mage's words, the sentiment was not lost on him. Anders had offered no words of endearment but his actions spoke clear enough. What man would risk himself to rescue another in peril if there was no affection there?

"You said that there could be no future in this but I still believe what I said, Fenris. I believe I am bound to you. I know that it sounds...well, crazy but--"

"Mage," Fenris said and silenced him. "If there is a future to be had...I shall walk it by your side."

"Oh..." Anders was staring at him, now clearly unsure of what to do with himself. His hands twitched in his lap, fisting the air. 

They could step around this, dance around each other, but Fenris knew what he wanted. And he had allowed himself to want. Like the feather on his wrist, Anders was something he had chosen for himself. He would not push this away. 

"Fenris... You know what I am. You've seen... With that girl? I don't want to hurt anyone."

The confusion, anxiety and fear whirled in his gut but these were the feelings Fenris pushed aside now. He had been scared before, had found himself shaking with fear before a battle when he was new and untested. He had feared Hadriana and her cruel treatment of him. At one time, he had feared that Danarius would tire of him and discard him.

He knew perfectly well what Anders was...and what he was likely to become. "Someone must be there to keep you in check, Mage," he replied.

He had no reason to fear Anders.

Anders let out a small but sad laugh. "I do like it when you make a joke. But thank you. I fear that one day I might become unable. If you are there... Fenris, if I become--"

"Hush, Mage. Understand I will do what needs to be done."

That was all the conversation either allowed on that matter, at least. Their future was too clouded - it was pointless to speak of if, and likely when, Anders would lose himself or how Fenris might suffer from the lyrium burnt into his flesh. Those things were unknown and the present pressed forth. 

Neither of them could broach what they were actually speaking of head-on. The word 'relationship' was too loaded. Fenris knew he could not promise such a thing. He could promise little as he and so little to give. He had nothing to offer someone like Hawke, someone who might want to build a family or someone who craved stability. If he was to walk a path into the future as a free man, the mage at least understood him and knew how uncertain that future might be. Anders expected nothing.

Yet he could still not bring himself to speak directly on the subject. At least for now some of the dance remained.

"For once Justice and I disagree on something. He thinks I am obsessed with you." Anders laughed again, but it lacked all light. "I suppose he could be right, given how often you entered my thoughts. I've been...afraid...of feelings for so long. The Templars always knew and if you cared for anything, they would destroy it so that their authority would never be questioned. No mage dared to...love." The word was croaked out and Anders cleared his throat and looked away. His pale cheeks flared with color and Fenris smiled.

"Yet you did," Fenris said. If he eased their conversation to safer places, Anders would feel more comfortable. The mage was dour and Fenris felt it like rain or a cold wind through thin clothes. No, Anders - the mage he cared for - was a sun. Bright and warm. This sullenness did not suit him.

"Karl. He seemed sometimes my only friend. I owe Karl my freedom." Anders held up his hands. "No, not from the dungeons. No...Karl, he--" Anders voice caught again and his shoulders hunched as he curled in on himself.

Fenris pulled up the blankets, readjusted the pillows, and then crawled into the bed beside Anders. He held up the edge of the blanket and Anders acquiesced and slid under. He looked at Fenris pleadingly, not moving closer until Fenris nodded. He was quickly granted with Anders curling beside him, head on his chest, hair tickling his skin. Anders' hair shone in the light, golden locks that Fenris brushed back, watching each strand slide through his fingers. It seemed to calm Anders and fed Fenris' own obsession.

"Karl released me from the prison I had built to keep myself safe, to keep my mind safe. I never turned to blood magic while I was kept in solitary. They tried to push me. Goaded me, beat me, taunting me with the prospect of saving myself. They lifted the smite from me and pushed, hoping I would push back. It would have given them the reason they needed to kill me." Anders ran his fingers along Fenris' skin, each line of lyrium he touched and trailed glowing in response. 

"I would never. Even if it meant my death. I gave the Templars all they could want from me. I screamed at the right times, begged at the right times. I would drop to my knees after nothing more than a look. When Karl found me again I assumed he wanted the same from me. I knew no better," Anders said. "Karl swore that if he ever met one of the Templars that had touched me he would make them suffer as I had. I suppose it was lucky that Kinloch Hold was taken. A few demons and blood mages seem pale compared to Karl's wrath."

"You joke of such things."

"Mm, I've found crying over it does little to help. In the end, the Templars had their way and a good man was sentenced to a life more horrible than death could ever be. Karl was a kind, generous man. And he cared for me. I fear it was my love that brought about his end."

Fenris could hear the unshed tears in Anders' voice, his words sticking in a dry throat. 

"I won’t let anyone else I care for be taken. When Varania arrives I will be there with you. There is nothing to worry about. I will not let Danarius have you and I will make sure he meets his end," Anders said, his barely contained anger leaking from his body as the Fade breached around him.

"And if I fall to him and he overpowers you? What then?" Fenris stroked back Anders' hair again and tried to keep the bite from his words. It was fear that made him snap. If Danarius took him in the end then so be it, but Fenris would not see the Magister claim Anders as a secondary prize. Anders had survived the Templars and had overcome the power they had held over him. If he was taken to Tevinter, he would not survive, Fenris was sure of it.

"That will not happen," Anders said. "Justice won't let it happen." 

Anders curled his arm around Fenris' waist and held him. Nothing more. The mage was trying to bring himself under control, letting the lyrium soothe Justice. Fenris frowned. His body hummed and everywhere Anders touched his nerves buzzed - from the touch of magic, the call of the Fade, and his own body's natural reaction to stimuli. There was nothing sexual about the position at all. Fenris moved his hands, his wrists were free \- same with his feet and ankles, but was not used to being held unless it was held down or held up, somewhere on display or available.

"It's all right," Anders said.

Fenris startled. The mage sometimes knew him as much as he knew himself. Anders rubbed a smooth circle across the skin of his chest, avoiding lyrium markings. Calming him as one would an animal. 

Despite all similarities, Fenris did not like the comparison. He was not wild. But he often allowed his emotions to rule him - a gift only a free man could indulge of. He took a deep breath. He would stay free. That was a certainty.

He would remain free...or die free.

Fenris placed his fingers under Anders' chin so that he would lift his head and look up. Anders smiled, bright and open, and leaned up for a quick kiss, his hand smoothing back Fenris' hair from his forehead. Anders grinned when he pulled away and Fenris could only assume he had made some sort of amusing expression that had pleased the mage. Anders laughed, full of warmth and light and Fenris basked in it, holding Anders to him, arms linked around his waist.

Fenris felt the mage press a light kiss to his chest. "Don't worry. I promised to help you, Fenris. And I'll do that, just as I promised." Anders looked up and paused, seeking his words. "But I-- I just never meant-- What I mean is, I didn't expect-- Maker! I just never thought that this could ever..."

In private he could treat the man how he wished. Neither could afford to make themselves targets in public but here, alone, they could do as their pleased. Fenris couldn't help a smile when he thought of how his companions might react. Fenris and the mage?

A stranger thing had never happened.

The mage looked away and Fenris caught him, placing his hand on Anders' stubbled jaw and turning him back. "I understand."

Anders grinned. "At last."


	16. Chapter 16

Fenris expected that something would change. He had, in his own way, promised himself to the mage. He had no poetic words of love or devotion, he had never even heard such things, but he gave Anders what he was capable of. The mage seemed content.

Their precarious situation did not change and Fenris was not sure what he expected to change. The mage went to his clinic the next day and Fenris departed early to seek out Aveline - she had promised him a job. And that was that. There was not even an ounce of awkwardness that Fenris could cling to in order to support his need for _change_.

He was unsure on almost every level how a relationship of any kind should progress, let alone the strange sort of relationship he found himself in with Anders. Unfortunately, those around him offered no more useful experience. The only couple he knew of was the partnership between Aveline and Donnic and their beginning had been such a farce Fenris could honestly say he was better equipped at handling matters of that kind than Aveline was - he had not needed a long walk around the Wounded Coast with Anders to confess his feelings.

No...he had just needed three years.

Fenris growled and Donnic looked at him but didn't ask, which was for the best. Donnic was a sensible man. 

The uneasiness did not leave him all day. The job Aveline sent him on was blessedly quiet, but that just gave Fenris time to think. What was he to do with Anders now? Was the mage to move permanently into his mansion now that they had agreed to this? What did people in a partnership do, exactly?

He handed Aveline the package he had been sent to collect and stormed away without further word. Aveline knew of his moods and didn't have time for them. She let him be. It was Donnic who stopped him before he could leave the Keep.

"Fenris, you seem distracted today, my friend."

Fenris frowned. "Yes, you could say that."

"Do you wish to speak of it?"

"No."

Donnic sighed but smiled at him. He placed his hand on Fenris' shoulder and the elf didn't flinch or attempt to move Donnic off. "Fenris, you have been a firm friend to me. You have listened to all my problems. I only wish to do you the same courtesy. Come have a drink with me."

It was hard to turn down the offer. Fenris had intended to head to the Darktown clinic as soon as he was finished his job but there was no reason for his urgency. He nodded and Donnic thumped him with a friendly punch in the arm and they made for the Hanged Man.

The tavern was the usual cacophony of activity and noise. Many patrons were eating their dinner at the tables around them; Donnic and Fenris ordered drinks and nothing more.

If Fenris was going to speak of his problems, he did not feel comfortable doing so in such an open environment. Anyone could hear them here, despite the pub-goers being no one he recognized. Fenris trusted no one. He took a swig of his drink and drew his lips back as the alcohol burned on his tongue and at the back of his throat. It was in no way pleasant but the Hanged Man served little else than the scum they called beer.

"I've not seen you for a few days," Donnic said. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise of the room but he leant forward in his seat as not to yell.

"Yes, I have been..." Been what? He had worried over his sister's letter first, and had ended up in the mage's arms later. "Busy."

Donnic laughed. "We are all 'busy', Fenris. But what has made you so distressed?"

There were some things Donnic already knew of; his previous life as Danarius' slave, the knowledge Hadriana had given him of his sister and that Fenris had been writing to her. "My sister means to come to Kirkwall."

"Really? That's a long journey from Tevinter. Will she be safe?"

"I have sent her coin enough to travel safely. Whether she uses it wisely or not, I cannot say."

"Well that's good." Donnic raised his empty mug to the barmaid and she trotted off to fetch another. "I'd hate to think of her traveling all that way alone. Are you excited?"

The new mug was placed in front of Donnic and he pushed some coin to the woman. She looked at Fenris but he shook his head - one was enough.

"I am not sure I can be excited. I remember nothing of my sister. She is a stranger to me. Sebastian believes I may remember more if I speak with her, but..." Fenris narrowed his eyes. In his mind, dull, was a thought, an image. Red hair. That was all he had, but it seemed significant. It felt significant. He felt a tingle run through his body and he was reminded of Anders. He shivered and set his mug down.

"There is more that troubles you," Donnic said.

The man was perceptive. Donnic was a good man; brave, strong and compassionate. Aveline felt herself a very lucky woman and Fenris was one to agree. He chuckled. "You know me well, friend."

"And this you don't wish to speak of?"

Fenris pondered the thought. If he spoke of Anders to Donnic, the guard would confide in Aveline. Fenris would not blame him for it. Yet he preferred the Guard-Captain not know of his new situation. But perhaps generalities would allow him to seek advice without explaining his delicate situation? Fenris shifted on his chair and then took another drink from his mug. Donnic, ever patient, waited for Fenris to speak in his own time.

"I find myself wishing for a...partner," Fenris said. He was well aware that the tips of his ears had heated and could feel them twitching against his hair. "I am unsure of how I should attempt such a thing."

Donnic almost choked on his drink, spitting some back into the mug in his haste to breathe again. His eyes widened and he stared at Fenris over the rim. Fenris saw Donnic's throat working as he took another long drink before finally setting the mug down.

"I apologize. I have not chosen appropriate conversation tonight," Fenris said.

"No, no, that’s not it. I'm sorry. You...uh...surprised me, is all. You've never spoken of such things."

"No, I have not."

Donnic was uncomfortable and Fenris wished he had kept his curiosity to himself. He had never spoken to anyone other than the mage about delicate things such as relationships. Why should he begin now?

"Is there...someone you had your eye on?"

"Yes."

Donnic leaned forward, closer. "Fenris, this isn't about Hawke, is it?" 

"No." 

Fenris had never explained why he had removed himself from Hawke's life, but her companions also never asked. They had their own problems with Hawke and in the end he was not the only one to leave her company. Anders had been betrayed by her and left, and Fenris abused by her hand. The blood mage fell to her whims next when Hawke refused to assist her any further, taking both the ceremonial knife and the mirror from Merrill and leaving the Dalish mage alone in the Alienage. Merrill never spoke to her again. 

As the years passed, Hawke's hatred of mages grew and her quests often found her siding with Meredith and the Templars, regardless of their crimes. Allying with Meredith benefitted Hawke - she breezed around the city as Champion and a spokesperson for the sacred duty of the Templars. Fenris had heard her addressing a rowdy crowd led by the First Enchanter once; Hawke had spoken of how her sister Bethany had gone to the Circle for her own safety and how the Knights would protect her from the demons that plagued her. Fenris had not stayed to hear more and had ignored Hawke's gaze.

Even Aveline and Varric were fed up with Hawke's hubris. She was selfish and prideful and cared for none but herself. Hawke demanded coin out of all she assisted, regardless of whether they had it to spare and threatened to leave those unable to pay for her 'services'. Varric still ventured with Hawke, as did Aveline and Sebastian, but they had tired of her. It seemed only the dwarf still held any part of her friendship.

Fenris held his mug in both hands. It was cool and eased some of the burning embarrassment of speaking on such a thing. His thoughts had not strayed to Hawke in a long time. He had seen her in passing, heard many things of her, but never concerned himself.

"Well if it's not Hawke then it must be someone I don't know. Someone from the Alienage perhaps?"

Fenris allowed himself a small smile, knowing his friend would never guess, but allowed the game to continue. He would not explain his relationship with the mage - the tale was too long.

"Once your feelings were admitted," Fenris started, having to clear his throat, "What became of your relationship?"

"What became...? Well...we, uhh..."

"After that," Fenris said. He knew all about...that.

Donnic coughed. "Yes, well, we spent more time together. We talked. Aveline was very curious about me. She wanted to know about my family and past. She was very nervous to meet my parents the first time."

"You spoke? Was there nothing else?"

"What else is there? We spent time together. Sometimes go for walks, or I would bring her here for dinner or drinks. It's hard in the barracks to find time alone."

Fenris frowned. All these were things he had already done with the mage. They had spoken of their pasts, revealed more to each other than they had to any other, and had spent many nights eating or drinking together before tumbling into the sheets of Fenris' bed. They had spent plenty of time alone. Yet he and the mage had not been in any kind of relationship other than time spent in each other's company through necessity until now. Was that all there was?

"You did not...act differently...afterwards?" Fenris asked.

"Fenris, have you and this girl already...?"

Fenris drooped physically, his shoulders slumping and ears twitching under the weight of sheer embarrassment. Donnic chuckled and patted Fenris' hand on the table.

"There is no shame in this, my friend. I congratulate you! I should like to meet her when you are comfortable."

Fenris let the lie stand. It would throw anyone off the truth, at least for now.

"Aveline and I have a professional image to uphold but I assure you that when we are alone she is tender. But I shall say no more."

Tender... That did not help Fenris. The mage had always been...tender. Fenris swallowed down the last of his ale and then stood. "I thank you for your help."

"Going to see her? Women can be odd creatures, so I wish you the best of luck."

"Yes... Thank you." He left it at that. Women were not the only odd creatures. Fenris could add mages to that list. He felt he might need all the luck he could garner. He had no idea what he was doing. Instead of continuing to Darktown he headed back to his mansion to wait for the mage's return. Waiting was something he was well versed in.

But the passing of the hours did nothing for his patience. Each new notch of the candle that burned away had Fenris squirming in his chair. Two bottles of wine were empty on the floor beside him, along with the core of a pear. He hadn't wanted to eat. Anders had not returned to him and as the night turned to morning, his worry grew. He knew Anders was capable and quite able to travel alone, but he tended to make a target of himself, brandishing his staff and mage status brazenly as he strolled down the streets. The Knight-Commander had increased patrols throughout Kirkwall - there was no safety for Anders on the streets.

Fenris huffed. He got to his feet and grabbed his sword. He would find the mage and then his worry would be sated. Fenris stormed out of his manor. He was well aware of his mood, his anger, itching for a fight where there was none to be had. The Hightown street was quiet. He continued on, down the series of steps and landings that made up Kirkwall, traversing the winding path past manors, houses, until Lowtown crept up on him. The smell of the Docks was on the wind - fish, wonderful...

Tension spawned in him and his muscles knitted as he felt magic tear at his branding. That warmth, it was still there, and his head clouded with the scent of pine, but benign magic this was not. Fenris ran, his feet barely feeling the ground and his body phased, a blue aura. 

Anders. Anders needed him.

Foolish mage! Wandering the streets at night alone. What should he expect to come of such folly?

Fenris rounded the corner. The step dug into the arch of his foot as he ground to a halt. Anders... Magic tore through him and Fenris felt the air whoosh from his body, leaving him pale and solid in the heavy Lowtown air. Anders was a beacon; a shining manifestation of the Fade, of magic and of Justice. Magic burned from Anders' skin, lightning searing a path from his fingers, his target convulsing and cooking inside out. The burnt and melted corpse dropped and Anders twirled his staff. A battle mage. Not a delicate Circle mage who commanded few skills that helped much in combat. Anders was deadly and ruthless. 

Never in all this time had Fenris paused to watch him.

Anders danced. His staff twirled in practiced hands, magic summoned and racing from a trained body. Even under the coat, Fenris could see the shift of Anders' muscles - the way the fabric tugged and bunched over his figure as he moved.

Another sparking bolt of electricity lit up the night and Fenris buzzed, his brands alight. He shivered, uncontrolled. Two raiders fell, blood staining the ground. His breath caught in his throat and Fenris couldn't call out, unable to warn Anders of the rogue behind him. It mattered little. Anders turned and Fenris saw a glint of a small knife and he held his breath as the two men stood, breast to breast. For a sickening, agonizing moment Fenris felt his heart pause in his chest.

The knife was drawn back and the raider fell, clutching at his ribcage, and then stilled on the cold ground. Anders wiped the knife on his coat. When Anders looked up, Fenris felt his stolen breath return. His body hummed in tune with the Fade, but it was Anders who saw him, not Justice.

Fenris stumbled down the stairs, his arms shaking, barely able to hold his sword. Anders smiled, a small quirk of his lips and watery eyes and Fenris dropped his sword to the dirt below. He grabbed the foolish mage by the coat, burying his fingers amongst dark feathers, and pulled Anders down to him. His heart raced in his chest and he pushed Anders up against the wall, any care as to their location forgotten as he kissed the mage. Anders whined as Fenris buried his fingers into his bloodied golden hair and dropped his staff, clutching at Fenris instead and pressing up against him.

Blood was soaking into his loose shirt, seeped between his toes - Fenris did not care. He pushed Anders back up against the wall and pulled back to look at him. A clean knife wound to the mage's cheek seeped blood along his skin, down his chin and neck. Fenris lunged forward, mouth covering the wound, the copper taste of blood staining his tongue and the back of his throat. Anders clung to him, fingers digging deep enough into Fenris' flesh to bruise. Fenris laved his tongue down the mage's cheek, running along harsh, scratchy stubble, lapping away the blood. _Anders'_ blood.

He would not have it. Foolish mage, running off alone - he could have been killed! Fenris glowered at Anders, frustratingly shorter than him but not needing the height to intimidate the mage. Anders slumped against the wall and reached up to touch his cheek. The awe inspiring, frightful battle mage was gone, replaced with his strange and somehow compelling apostate. 

"It seems my rescue was not needed," Fenris said. He raised his hand and his finger followed Anders' along the knife wound. "Heal yourself. You are not rugged enough to wear a scar."

Anders pouted, that lower lip plump and pink and Fenris huffed and looked away, his hands itching at his sides. Fenris felt the trickle of warmth diffuse through his body as if the mage had touched him with the magic instead of healing the wound.

"I was on my way to you," Anders said. He rescued his staff from the dirt but his free hand touched his cheek once more.

"I waited for your arrival. I saw no other reason for your delay except ambush by...filth," Fenris said and he nudged one of the corpses with his toe. There would be no looting - that was for Hawke and whatever meager possessions these men and women had would now be left for the streets.

The walk to Hightown was in silence save for the sounds of their feet - bare and booted - on the stones and the rustle of their clothing. Hightown was deathly quiet. Fenris allowed Anders into his home and followed the mage, all the while watching his back. The tingle of magic still hovered around the man, a tangible pulse and a tang on the roof of Fenris' mouth. The spark of electricity hummed in his fingertips, a residual lingering aura that got caught in his brands and then dissipated into the air.

Anders' staff and coat were placed aside, away from the fire and with care. Boots and tunic followed, discarded on the ground, as Fenris watched. Watched the way Anders' muscles moved in the low light the glow of the fire offered. Watched how blond hair glinted as Anders dabbed at and cleaned away blood. 

Anders was strong. Too strong. Fenris swallowed back the sting of magic in his throat.

Anders had not needed him. Fenris had seen the look in the mage's eyes, watched him smile as he plunged his knife between ribs. _Anders_ , not Justice.

Anders had not needed him at all.

"If you scowl any harder your face will just set like that and I quite like it when you smile, you know."

He looked up and Anders beckoned him closer. Fenris was little if not a slave to his own desires. He stepped closer without thought, his body carrying him to where he could pull the mage to him, feel Anders against him. He breathed out, ignored the sick, clawing darkness inside of him, and when he breathed in again it was of clean air and herbs and sun-dried cotton.

Anders didn't touch him but held his hand up, fingers ghosting a line over and down Fenris' throat. Fenris felt it as though it was a touch - he could feel his skin tingling in reply.

"I have thought of nothing but you all day and night. It has been very distracting," Anders said. His hands worked open the laces at the front of Fenris' shirt where the fabric was pulled closed across his chest. Fenris reached down to the hem of his shirt, batting away Anders' hands to pull the garment over his head. He tossed it away, the shirt landing crumpled near the mage's boots.

"Should I apologize for finding myself in your thoughts?" Fenris couldn't help a small grin. He wanted to be in the mage's thoughts. He wanted the mage distracted with thoughts of their time together, with what they would do together later. He wanted the mage as distracted as Fenris was with thoughts of Anders.

Anders pulled him back, stepping backwards until they met the bed. It was darker here, away from the fire. Fenris eagerly fell with the mage, tumbling onto the mattress. There was no struggle for dominance. There was no need. Anders had complete control of him when it came to this bed. The mage rolled them, leaning over Fenris and placing a steadying hand on his chest - just for a moment.

Anders' fingers worked along his chest, his arms, and Fenris breathed in as the mage took his hands. Anders moved his hands until Fenris had his wrists pinned above his head and Anders was giving him a look that insisted he was very much to remain there.

Fingers ghosted along his throat and down along his collarbones. Fenris hung his head and felt a shiver run across his shoulders. He was not sure he liked this game where the mage was so close - close enough that Fenris could smell his sweat and the clean scent of pine - yet Fenris could not touch him.

"You came for me," Anders said.

"I was...concerned. I did not wish for you to be harmed."

The light ghosting of Anders' lips ran across his collarbone and Fenris felt his breath hitch.

"There was no need."

"I saw. You were...capable."

Anders looked up at him and Fenris could just see the glow of the fire reflected in his eyes. Anders smirked and pressed closer, his hips pressed to Fenris' body flush. Fenris inhaled sharp, air biting in his lungs.

"I am more than capable. I am an apostate mage. I was a Grey Warden. I have fought for the freedom to live as I choose, so that I may be here...like this. Freedom must often be earned and it is often a struggle to keep. I am not the delicate mage flower you may have come to expect," Anders said.

"I know this."

"Then do not treat me as one."

Fenris shivered again. "I wish to protect what is mine."

Anders leaned up and Fenris felt the mage's nose bump against his throat. The mage nuzzled against his skin and breathed deep. "Perhaps I wish to be protected by you," Anders said against his ear, followed by a kiss to Fenris' cheek. "As I shall protect you in return. Remember that."

Fenris said nothing but gave a small, curt nod and his hands and arms dropped so that he could wind his fingers into the mage's hair. Anders allowed it, pausing to give himself the moment.

He had not forgotten the man was a mage. No, that was impossible. But perhaps he had forgotten just how capable Anders was in battle. How much power the mage could wield. As easy rival to most Magisters in Tevinter. It would seem Fenris' luck that he was to be involved with a mage of such power. The only difference was intent. But it troubled him all the same.

Anders' hands stroked along Fenris' arms up to his shoulders and then across his solid chest. A distraction, Fenris was aware. Anders knew him well, it seemed. Better than he sometimes knew himself. 

"I wish to ask you something. Promise you won't get all...you," Anders said. Fenris frowned and Anders grinned, trying to pull his best face of complete innocence.

"How am I to be not me?" Fenris asked. He rested his hands on Anders' thighs, the mage sitting on his legs, knees either side of Fenris' hips.

"Well, that is difficult but...look, just humor me, Fenris. Promise your first response is not to be indignant cursing and spluttering."

Fenris frowned, "I am more concerned than ever, Mage."

Anders slid his hands up Fenris' waist, his thumbs pressing a straight line from navel to sternum and then spreading out across his chest. "I-- I want to use magic on you."

Fenris' jaw tightened but Anders was smiling, his fingers just as tight on Fenris' darkened skin, pressing small white indentations with his nails into the flesh. 

"Please. I wish to show you how magic can be used for something other than harm."

Magic... Fenris' first instinct was to throw the mage off him and kick him into the streets. He had little want to find out how magic could be used for anything. He had suffered enough. If all magic was to disappear from the world, he would not mourn its loss. Anders was still looking at him with that damn hopeful smile, as though this was something Fenris could actually enjoy.

"Mage--"

"Wait! I know, Fenris, what you must be thinking, but please... This is not just a wild thought I have had. Magic has bound your life, you have blamed it for so much, why not have magic serve you? Have magic show you nothing but pleasure?"

Pale, long fingers stroked back and forth over Fenris' chest but he couldn't find words just at the time. He did not want to turn his back to magic, allow it to control him. But this...fear...he could not live with that either. He could not spend his whole life terrified of magic getting the better of him, shying away from it and all its uses. Fenris looked up at the mage who still stroked gently at his flesh in an attempt to sooth concerns. He could trust Anders. More than he could trust any other. Couldn't he?

Fenris wet his lips, dragging his tongue over parched skin. "Mage... If I were to allow this--"

"Slow," Anders interrupted. "Very slow. And as any time before you may ask me to stop with just a word and I shall do so."

"Hm." It was the most noncommittal sound he could make, yet he knew Anders had decided what he would choose. Truthfully, the man was right. Fenris had allowed Anders to use magic to heal him before or to boost their talents during a fight; this would be just an extension of those skills.

He could do this.

Anders grinned. His fingers tangled into Fenris' hair as he kissed him, drawing himself closer, hips drawing up against Fenris. Fenris couldn't help his own smile, winding his arms around Anders' waist, fingers sliding up against his skin. He felt the draw at his brands first, a tugging beneath his skin that itched and zinged - the precursor to magic. Then it was there, a tingle that crept through him, ran along the lines of lyrium embedded in his flesh. It was a pleasant hum, a tingle that made his muscles shiver in response. Anders held him still, pressing gentle kisses to his throat and chest, his hands rubbing a soothing pattern across his body. Fenris sighed and closed his eyes, let the feeling take him. If he were to do this, he would do it properly.

The hum increased in tempo, striking a beat through his body with the pump of his blood. The magic travelled with him, rather than against the tide. Like it was...part of him. Fenris drew in a sharp gasp and the hum of magic slid deeper, tendrils moving across him in delicate lines. Anders was still there, grounding Fenris, keeping him there in the room. He wouldn't let Fenris hide, draw into himself and shy away. Anders was intent on keeping him in the moment.

"Are you alright? Speak to me," Anders insisted.

"I am fine," Fenris responded. It was the truth. 

The hum was back, following Anders' hands. It was similar to when Anders had touched him to ease his sore muscles, massaging his flesh, but magic infused his path. It did feel good; Fenris could admit that. He knew that magic was able to give pleasure, to help others, but what had he known but pain?

He remembered each time Danarius had used magic on him. How his brands burned until he screamed, how his nightmares had been soured by remembered pain and suffering. He had stood by and watched as Danarius called demons to work his will, how the man had used the blood of unfortunates to bolster his power, and Fenris had never said a word. He had not only let Danarius and Hadriana hurt others, but they had injured him, and he had said nothing.

Fenris gasped as Anders moved back, sliding down his thighs, the coil of magic following him down and over Fenris' hips. Anders just grinned and leaned down and lapped a stripe with his wet tongue along the skin of Fenris' hip, just above the waist of his leathers. Fenris stared, eyes wide but got only a chuckle for his surprise. Anders' tongue licked a path along the branding over Fenris' waist and Fenris found himself grasping his fingers into blond hair, tugging lightly, wanting more.

"You seemed far away," Anders said. He moved down just a little more and nuzzled against the hardening cloth-covered bulge between Fenris' thighs. "I want you here...with me. Not there."

"And where was I?" Fenris asked. A rosy blush spread up his ears at the hitch in his voice when Anders' tongue moved against his groin and the hot leather, coaxing him, leading him. Fenris knew the point of this was not entirely sexual. He had come to know that much about Anders. The mage wanted him to learn the lesson - it would not be learnt with mindless rutting.

Sure enough, Anders pulled away, eyes looking up at Fenris. "Tell me what you are feeling. It's important."

Fenris scowled. Easy enough for the verbally unchallenged mage. He cleared his throat. His body felt as though he might vibrate off the bed, filled with magic, and slump to the ground in a sated pool of flesh. His skin felt warm and his pain eased in a way he had never felt. Each line of lyrium hummed beneath his skin, singing in his mind a sweet song. "I--" His voice caught in his throat and Anders smiled.

"I know you can do better than that."

Damnable mage! "It feels good. What more do you wish to hear?" Fenris went to draw his hand from Anders' hair, but the mage kept it there, placing his own hand atop Fenris' dark fingers. Fenris huffed and looked up towards to ceiling before he let his eyes drift shut. "I...I feel as though I were floating. Warm beneath your hands. The lyrium sings. Anders...does it sing for you?"

Anders paused and Fenris could tell the mage was staring at him. "You hardly ever call me by my name," Anders said, but his tone was fond. "A mage can always hear the lyrium but...we _feel_ it.  In our bones, in our flesh. The song we hear sings inside of us. But Fenris, you sing. Like nothing I have ever heard before."

As Justice longed to hear, was left unsaid. Fenris knew the truth and he found that it did not concern him as much as it should. Justice and Anders were tied and if he could keep the mage safe from the spirit, then he would, but he could not save him.

His toes tingled and Fenris curled them against the sheets. His shoulders slumped back and Anders ran his lips up his chest, hands working over Fenris' ribs and down his sides. Anders' magic pulsed through him, running from the elf's head to his feet in waves. The feeling was entirely indescribable. There had never been anything similar to the feeling and Fenris suspected Anders knew what he was accomplishing. The man was a healer, he used magic in a way few other mages could. Anders knew exactly what he was doing. Fenris sighed, letting his thumbs work in small, absentminded circles against Anders' head. He felt...

Calm.

The memory of pain was there. Always there. It would never leave him, but this covered the pain, wrapped it in a warm, comfortable blanket. Fenris curled the feeling around him, around those memories of pain. It did not make him trust magic, did not make him trust all mages or forgive the Magisters of Tevinter but...it was something, even if it was small. He would allow this, enjoy it even. In a way he never had before.

"I know I will not change your mind so easily, Fenris, but you've let me try... That's enough. Like I promised, this will be slow," Anders said. 

"I am not troubled," Fenris countered but his voice was breathy, the air floating from him in his haze. Or had he forgotten to breathe? He was no longer sure, everything a warm, swaying mass around him except the solid touch of Anders' hands, his hair under Fenris' palm, and Anders' thighs where he sat.

Anders chuckled and the magic pulled back, receding through Fenris' body, draining from his brands. Fenris sucked in a harsh breath as it left him, as though the magic stole his breath away. 

"Can't have too much," Anders said. "It is enough to calm you, but too far and..." He left it unsaid, but the danger was understandable.

Fenris grasped at Anders' hair, dragging the mage to him, holding him against his chest. He felt Anders' smile against his skin and Fenris held him closer. He knew next time the mage would want to incorporate magic into their intimacy and the thought honestly did not concern him. Anders was a mage in control of his magic like no other, a mage who could not be possessed by a demon (or possessed by another), and a man who cared, for whatever reason, about Fenris and his pleasure.

"Feel good, then?" Anders asked, barely reining in a grin.

Fenris didn't need to say any more.


	17. Chapter 17

"Please... I can't take any more!" Fenris gazed towards the ceiling but he saw nothing. His vision was a swathe of white with flashes of color. Anders' hand was gripped around Fenris' achingly hard erection. 

Fenris now knew all about the 'electricity trick' and exactly why Isabela dared to call Anders _'Sparkle Fingers'_. But the ache in his loins was excruciating. Anders kept him on the edge, backing away when Fenris thought he could reach completion.

Again, Anders retreated. Magic curled back into the mage, sliding through Fenris' body. Anders smiled at him and when he spoke, it was in Elvhen. Words Fenris had no understanding of, but not the phrase. Not yet. Anders' accent peppered the words, but they still sounded sweet. Little pieces of a language neither of them knew well. Anders had learned. Learned for this exact purpose. To train Fenris. To break Danarius' hold.

Fenris choked out what could only be described as a sob. His arms were bound above his head, tied to the headboard with strips of cloth. He could easily break free but he did as he was told. Anders was here to help him. 

His skin felt as though it was on fire, burning in each place the mage touched. His cock stood hard and red, leaking from the tip, sweat and oil clinging to the dark hair between his thighs. Fenris ached to just take himself in hand. He could barely think of anything else, just the ache in his body, the fire in his veins, and the sweet words Anders murmured against his ear. Fenris huffed and turned his head towards the mage, inhaling the scent of his sweat; pine and oils and the bright warmth of the sun. His mage.

"Anders--" Fenris groaned, any other words aborted as Anders' long fingers ran down his belly. Fenris thrust his hips up, begging. He wasn't ashamed to beg the mage. Not now. He wanted - no, _needed_ so badly. Anders would give him what he needed if he asked.

Anders clicked his tongue and pulled his fingers back and Fenris groaned and strained against his bindings until the cloth creaked and the headboard wobbled.

"You must wait," Anders reprimanded. Fenris wanted to take his words and swallow them up, capture his mage's lips against his own. He wanted to make Anders feel this.

"Mage, I have waited! I-I need--" Fenris clamped his jaw shut, annoyed at the waver in his breath. Anders had so thoroughly taken him apart, pulled the pieces until they were bare before him. Fenris knew only want.

The skilled fingers worked their way back up Fenris' thighs, sliding along the skin through oil slick and sweat, but danced away from the centre of Fenris' need. The elf growled but was rewarded with nothing more than quiet laughter.

"You tease!" Fenris accused.

"Always," Anders replied and leaned forward to place a kiss to the swirls of lyrium on Fenris' chin. "You are doing so well. Do you think you could hold out? If I touched you, could you hold off the need?"

Fenris held his breath even though Anders made no movement towards touching him further, purposefully holding himself up and away from heated skin. He could-- He had! Time after time when Anders told him to wait, told him to hold the need back and Fenris had waited but again? He didn't know if he could again.

Lithe fingers worked down his chest, following lyrium-etched patterns down to his cock. The heat was burning, swallowing Fenris up from the inside. His thighs trembled as Anders took him in hand, his pale fingers sliding up along the heated length of Fenris' cock. The hold was tight but not enough and Fenris thrust his hips up and strained against his bindings. 

"Take your time, _lath'a'lin_ ," Anders whispered as he leant down. Hot breath ghosted along Fenris' over heated skin.

"Mage... I cannot--!"

"You can."

Fenris screwed his eyes shut. His hands were fisted around the cloth binding him to the bed. He struggled, forcing his hips down, his thighs shaking with effort as he felt the damp drag of Anders' tongue along the entire length of his cock. Down and then back up in wet stripes, over and over, never quite enough friction or suction or anything, just enough unending frustration.

They had done this over and over. Anders had told him it would help, would give Fenris control, and indeed he had come far since they first began. What had felt like the taut string of a bow pulled through his body, ready to snap at the slightest sensation, now lay coiled within him. The feeling wound tighter and tighter but lasted and that was what Anders wanted. He wanted Fenris to last, to hold out until he could no more. To fight away the overwhelming urge to give in to his completion when his body wanted nothing but that burst of pleasure.

Anders' lips tightened around the flushed head of his erection, lapping away the gathering pearls of fluid, before sinking down. Fenris pulled his trappings tight, urgent to reach for the mage's hair, wanting to sink his fingers into blonde locks and hold him close. Fenris felt Anders' laugh, a rumbling that shot like sparks through his taut body.

He fought. He did. Fenris bit his lip until he tasted the sharp, bitter tang of blood leaking across his tongue. He could not watch Anders, could lie helpless as the mage swallowed him down to the root, tongue laving solidly against the over-stimulated crown. When he gasped, Anders would reward him with a soft hum. And when he got too close, Anders edged away just enough that Fenris could hold himself.

If he said words, Fenris was unsure of their meaning. He may have spoken in Tevinter, babbling nonsense he would be ashamed of at any other time. Anders didn't seem to mind and Fenris paid it no heed. He could let himself have this. The softness of Anders' mouth, the slide of his palms against Fenris' thighs, the weight of the mage between his legs.

Anders pulled away with an obscene sound. A string of saliva caught on his lip until he wiped it back. The mage's lips were flushed red, debauched in a way Fenris had come to appreciate.

"Do you want to come?" Anders asked. His voice was rough, abused-sounding.

Fenris nodded, over-eager, straining so hard against his trapping that he knew his wrists would be circled with bruises later.

"You can...but not at my word, Fenris. It must be your want."

Fenris didn't care. He wanted. He wanted badly. So he nodded and watched as Anders leaned back down. Watched as the mage's mouth swallowed him down until watching became too much. Fenris' head fell backwards against the pillow and his hips gave an aborted stutter upwards. Anders did not even slow, drawing up and down on Fenris' erection, letting the hot flesh slide between his swollen lips. Anders was exceptionally skilled.

Anders sat back and his hand replaced his mouth, moving across the spit-slicked skin. "Fenris," Anders drawled, letting his tongue wrap around the elf's name. A caress that fell over Fenris' body. "You don't need to wait, Fenris."

This too was familiar. Fenris arched his back, his skin prickling. He could last.

Anders grinned. "Don't struggle, Fen. Relax." Anders' hand slipped, moving between Fenris' legs, fingers curling around his balls. "Let go. I want to see you come for me."

His whole body arched and curled, trying desperately to hold off and cling to the last fragile shreds of sanity Fenris had left. There was no demand yet the careful encouragement was worse than a barked order could ever be. Fenris trusted Anders and, worse, he wished to make the mage happy. Anders stared up at him, eyes all but pleading with him as his slender hand worked Fenris. Every muscle in Fenris' body seized and he had to fight to draw breath.

The smile on Anders' face grew and Fenris growled, a low rumble in the back of his throat. Fenris tugged hard and the bindings around his wrists snapped at the weak points where they had been tied to the posts. Anders smirked and Fenris grabbed him, dragging him close and forcing their lips together in a desperately deep kiss. The color was forced from the skin beneath the points of Fenris' fingers; marks that would pepper Anders' skin tomorrow and would be hidden away with clothing. 

Fenris forced the mage over onto his back, covering the man's body with his own. He would take what he wanted now. Anders had teased him long enough. Fenris rolled his hips and Anders let out a stuttered moan, his own fingers tightening on the bare flesh of Fenris' shoulders.

"You drive me...to distraction!" Fenris snapped. He rutted against Anders' more than willing body, the mage clawing at his back, cheeks flushing a delicate pink. He would make the mage come in his trousers for putting Fenris through this.

Anders' head hit the pillow, hair splaying out behind him. A high-pitched whine ripped from Anders' throat and the mage struggled beneath Fenris, trying desperately to get more friction, his hips working in awkward, uncoordinated shifts.

It didn't take much for Fenris to get his hand between them. He ripped open the laces and shoved down Anders' trousers and smallclothes, heard a seam break and could not have cared less. It took little more than a couple of sharp thrusts, Fenris' hand wrapped around them both, and Fenris was coming between them. Fenris gritted his teeth and worked his hand faster. Pain edged out pleasure as his body flared, lyrium burning beneath his skin. He would have Anders just as lost. His fluids eased the slide of his hand, the noise of his movement just audible over Anders' pleased gasps.

"F-Fenris--!"

Fenris grunted in reply; it was all he was capable of as he rested his head against Anders' shoulder. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and Anders' body shuddered, arching achingly close into Fenris' grip. Fenris eased him through it, his hand sliding up and down Anders' hot flesh, drawing out spurts of his heat. When Fenris finally collapsed onto Anders it was onto a sticky mess of their combined seed and sweat.

Anders huffed in playful complaint as he carded his fingers through silvery hair. "Am I forgiven?"

Fenris nuzzled against the mage's neck, feeling the scratch of his stubble. He caught a bead of sweat against his lips and Anders wiggled beneath him. Fenris knew he had done well. When Anders had first explained what he was to do he had not been able to hold out. He had learned to crave the mage's touch and want the pleasure and had given himself to it - he did not want to give it up so easily or so soon.

"I'll get a rag..." Anders said and pushed feebly at Fenris' shoulders.

The bed bounced beneath him as he rolled to the side, rubbing sweaty hair and dragging the sheets over his cooling body, lyrium marks still pulsing a low hum beneath his skin. Fenris was not usually one to allow the mage to dote on him like this, but when Anders returned with a damp rag Fenris allowed the mage to wipe his skin clean. 

"I think we ought to bathe before venturing out in the morning," Anders said. The rag was left aside for now and Anders hit the bed next to Fenris, sheets pulling and tangling around his legs as he tried to settle himself.

"You are not rushing away then?" Fenris asked.

Anders was silent, but he moved closer, sliding up against Fenris' skin until he could feel the pull in his markings as the lyrium arched towards Anders, still wanting. The mage bit his lower lip, flesh blushing beneath his teeth. When he let it go there was a small line of blood. Fenris couldn't help staring,

"Not just yet," Anders settled on and said nothing more, ducking his head down to rest on Fenris' shoulder, the red rivulet running down Anders' chin.

There wasn't much else Fenris could say. The mage's life was his own and Fenris refused to get involved in the mage's foolish quest. But Anders had been running off quickly after their meetings and Fenris would not see him for days. He was...concerned.

He pushed his fingers through Anders' hair and held him closer. If something were to happen to the mage, Fenris could admit he would be hurt. He had come to care. Perhaps too much.

They slept like that, pressed close and comfortable. Sticky skin and sheets were not much of a concern; they were both too tired to care to change sheets or bathe.

The sun was well up by the time Fenris woke to a cool, empty bed. He sighed. Anders did not leave notes, simply stealing out in the night or early morning while Fenris slept. Of course, the mage could always be found in his clinic. Fenris did not need to worry.

His daily routine was always much the same. He bathed and ate a meager meal before donning armor and sword. Aveline and the Guard would have a task for him and afterwards he could visit Sebastian at the Chantry. Anders would not come to him tonight, Fenris was sure. The mage was...preoccupied.

He ran his hand over one of the large, heavy books Anders had left behind at the desk. It was spread open to a page. It took Fenris a moment to figure out the difficult words in the small, scratchy writing. The book was like most that Anders poured over; history of Thedas, histories of magic and mages. He had no idea what the mage hoped to find but the large tomes had gathered in Fenris' room as Anders' worked through them one by one. Fenris flipped the book closed, fingers carefully stroking the leather cover.

A single sheet of paper fluttered up and then settled on the desk. Its edge was torn, pulled from a book at some point. Fenris frowned and picked the sheet up. The writing was small and difficult to read; complicated, swirling, elegant capital letters and teensy consonants and vowels crushed together to capitalize on space.

But it did not take much to recognize the words.

Fenris dropped the piece of paper. He stared at it, expecting it somehow to harm him. It was just a story, written on a piece of paper, but the fear was there, real. He sneered and grabbed the sheet again, finger stroking against the twisted, ragged edge.

Why had the mage kept it? He had watched Anders throw the book into the fire! Why had he ripped out this page and kept it when Anders knew what sort of pain it caused?

Some things were better left exactly where they were found; as this one should have been. Anders had no need for the tale, no need for the words. Words capable of ruining Fenris' life and destroying what little he had scrounged for himself here in Kirkwall.

Capable of stealing his freedom yet again.

Anders had vowed to him; he would see Fenris a free man. Anders swore.

Fenris could not bring himself to put the paper down, crinkling it in his hand and worrying the corners. It existed, and that truth was too much. Yes, he could destroy it, burn the page until nothing but ash remained, but... Fenris brought the paper up towards his face and inhaled the familiar and comforting scent of pine and cotton. Anders had kept this for a reason.

Fenris wanted to know why.

Aveline and the Guard were forgotten for today. Fenris could not leave this. He had held the mage in his arms not hours passed. He trusted Anders! Truly. He found it hard to believe Anders would break that trust, unless the deceit had existed from the beginning.

It would make sense. Fenris was wound about the mage's finger. Fenris would serve him. Fenris would kill for him. The mage needed only to ask. Had he allowed Anders to rule him in exchange for his freedom from Danarius?

He took his sword and left his manor. He would find the mage. He would reveal any deceit if it was to be had. He would know the truth. Fenris' hand crushed the paper in his palm. He would ask Anders everything.

The moment he found the mage he waved the paper at him, fingers holding the jagged edge. "You kept this?" he asked, bitterness in every word. He had meant to rationalize but the darkness, that small, scared voice inside of him, crawled forth. He would not give his freedom to Anders any more than he would Hawke.

Anders frowned. He turned to his patient - an elderly woman cradling her hand - and excused himself. Fenris did not care. The mage would answer to him. Fenris cared little for these people.

"Of course I kept it," Anders said. He took Fenris' arm but the elf shook him off. Anders huffed and grabbed him again, dragging him back to the small room Anders dared to call a bedroom. "I couldn't remember the words. I'm not good with Elvhen."

Fenris shoved the mage off him again and watched as Anders took a few wobbling steps back. "That day... You had no need of this! Our... Our _deal_ came later. You intended to use this." He shoved the piece of paper at Anders again and the mage took it this time.

Anders fumbled backwards until the back of his knees hit the edge of his cot. He fell back, the frame creaking as he sat. "And isn't it for the best I kept this?" Anders asked. "If I had not, I would not have been able to help you."

"You say as much, yet I believe none of it. I saw the way you smiled at me that day. What did you expect to gain from me, Mage? Or was it just for your perverse pleasure?"

"Fenris! You're imagining things. I'm not even going to speak with you about this--"

"You will answer me!"

Anders paused. Fenris watched his face, saw the smile drop and a blankness come over him. He stood and stared back at Fenris, using his height to lean over the elf, appearing larger than his usual haggard stoop. "I believed you to have a better impression of me. At least by now. Yet you still believe me capable of something so twisted?"

Fenris drew his lips back over his teeth and snarled. He shoved Anders back away from him. "Yet you cannot tell me why you kept this."

"I told you! I saw you had a problem, Fenris. I am a healer. You may be a stubborn ass but I intended to help you in any way I could, even if that was to tell Hawke your problem."

Fenris huffed. Hawke had not needed Anders to tell her anything. She had discovered his weakness on her own and had exploited it mercilessly. "I can't believe such a thing."

"Then you choose not to believe me. I thought that I had earned your trust, Fenris. You wished for more from this relationship, you wanted me...and yet you believe I could hurt someone so badly?"

Something twitched in Fenris' chest and he curled his fists at his side to stop himself reaching for the mage. No. He remembered that day; he remembered the smile Anders had given him. The mage had stood over him, cruel and... And...? Fenris frowned.

"Please leave," Anders said. "I have work to do. I have...a lot of work to do. I can't allow distractions like this."

Anders held out the piece of paper but Fenris left it. He certainly did not want it. He backed out and rushed across the clinic. The patients were all very careful not to stare as he left.

He did trust Anders. He did. 

Fenris paused outside the clinic, leaning against the ramshackle steps that led to the Dark Town Common. 

If he truly trusted Anders then should he not believe him? He found it difficult to believe the mage. They had held no love for each other, arguing more often than conversing. Anders would have sooner turned Fenris over to Danarius' guards than try to assist him. 

Or so he had believed. Perhaps he had been wrong about this, too, as he had been wrong about many things that concerned the mage.

He couldn't be sure. He was no more capable of asking the mage's intentions that day than he was of turning back the clock to his time with Danarius.

Fenris shook his head. He turned from the clinic and left. He could not face the mage just yet, not when he was still so unsure as to where he stood. It was not as easy as saying he trusted Anders or did not. As much as Fenris' opinion of Anders had changed in these few weeks, so had Anders' opinion of him. Asking himself whether he trusted Anders was akin to asking whether he trusted a different person completely. They were not who they once were and Anders should understand that better than all others.

Anders didn't return that night, or the next, and Fenris began to worry. He felt uncomfortable within his own skin. Anders had crawled inside of him and built himself a space and without the damnable mage, Fenris, was lost.

He told no one, of course. No one needed to know how pathetic he had become.

 

 

Sebastian visited him first, not bothering to knock, just letting himself into Fenris' room. The Prince of Starkhaven was not at all concerned with viewing flesh - his debauchery before the Chantry had practically been legendary.

"What do I have the pleasure of this company?" Fenris asked.

Sebastian touched his hand to his other wrist, the proud Prince drawing in on himself. "This visit is not of good tidings. I've been...asked. A plea, maybe, if you will. I am a man of the Chantry, the Maker would not approve, but the Maker would not approve of the blood magic that forced you this way..."

Fenris' eyes widened. The mage would not...

"Aye, Fenris, the mage came to me to explain. You should blame him for nothing. He, for once, has the best intentions in mind."

Fenris balled his fists at his sides, trembling. How dare Anders-- Sebastian, of all people! Not that he could think of a better candidate to assist him. Sebastian was devoted to the Chantry and would not have his reputation destroyed for such a...trivial...error.

"He should have asked."

"He said you refused to listen. I believe him - you are both stubborn."

He could hear as well as feel grinding his teeth together. A dull pain in Fenris' jaw that centered him. "And how do you expect to help? You are a man of God," Fenris said and flicked his hand, dismissive.

"I have conferred with a Mother. She agrees that I should assist you in whatever way I can without breaking my vows. Though I'm not sure what Anders would have me do."

Fenris felt his eyebrow twitch. Indeed, what was the mage plotting? Though Fenris found he didn’t so much mind Sebastian’s knowledge of the situation. Someone would have to know eventually.

Fenris gestured him into the room and Sebastian warmed his hands by the fire. 

"You are reading at such a high level?" Sebastian asked and motioned towards the heavy tomes.

"They belong to Anders. He coughs them up as a cat would a hairball."

Sebastian bellowed a laugh, head thrown back as he chortled. "You are not disturbed my being here?" Sebastian asked.

The slump of Fenris' shoulders spoke volumes. "No. I would believe somehow that this was to be almost expected."

"From what I have heard. Anders told me of the underground library and finding the book...and of Hawke."

"Don't let my experiences color your view of her, please."

"Hawke's actions speak for themselves. She does not need any more denouncing her name."

"Yet Hawke is Champion of Kirkwall! Rumors of her exploits have tainted every bar from Hightown to Darktown. I cannot work with the surliest of men without hearing of her exploits." Fenris raised his glass to the Prince. "They say the Templar are keen to rally behind her. That she may take viscount. Just rumors, of course."

"Of course..." Sebastian muttered.

They both looked at the swing of the mansion's door below.

"Fenris!" Anders voice echoed through the great hall. "If you're here, then please let me explain the situation."

Anders appeared in the firelight. He looked haggard, drawn down and beaten upon. A sad reflection of the man that once lived proud. But he was healthy and he still smiled the same at Fenris when the elf showed him into the master room.

"I'm glad you're here, Sebastian. I didn't think you would show up," Anders said. "This, I do believe, probably enters your sin list."

"What has been done to Fenris is a sin. I do not trivialize this act."

"Of course not," the mage said through gritted teeth that neither recognized.

"Fenris, you are a dear friend. So I offer my assistance. I...cannot touch you. But Anders said this was not necessary."

Fenris looked back towards Anders but the mage's face was impassive. Neither quirked eyebrow nor crooked lip. So he looked to Sebastian for his answers.

"He explained this...curse. It is not magic, yet it would haunt one so. But I agree with him, Maker have mercy! And I wish to save you, to have you live as a free man." Sebastian stepped forward and Fenris met his gaze. The Prince was scarce with his affections, so the kind look Fenris found was more than any word could say.

"I will accept your help," Fenris answered. 

"Then don't you think there should be more to this story between you and the mage. I am not stupid."

"Anders and I...are...involved, you might say. We found we had many compatible traits." Fenris' cheeks went red, ears drooping, and Anders grinned. The sly hound grinned!

Sebastian laughed. "Even I find such embarrassment unneeded. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

Nothing to be ashamed of. Novel concept. He felt it might be fairly soon in which the concept of shame fled his body forever. It started with Anders' hands on his shoulder blades, carefully snapping away clasps.

"You did not stop to give any time for this decision," Fenris whispered back against the shell of Anders' ear.

"As I knew what you would have said." That was all the questioning Anders would allow. He held his hand over Fenris' mouth, eliciting a grunt of want when Fenris sucked the man's finger in his mouth.

At no point would Fenris have suggested he could be an exhibitionist but here he stood, sucking Anders' fingers as the mage peeled the clothing from his body. It was easy to believe they were all alone but each uptick of breath or suppressed grunt rounded him back on the road to cohesion. His hose down to his knees, chest bare, Fenris already felt dirty with Sebastian watching so intent on their coupling. Perhaps the Prince still craved this - a warm hand, a lurid glance. And perhaps Fenris did not feel so bad, either.

It thrilled him.

"Fenris... You know what I'm going to do?" Anders flicked his thumb over and back across Fenris' hard nipple. "Let me? You understand why this is important..."

A quick nod was all Fenris could content him with as Anders' hands slid down his side, letting dark skin slide beneath his hands as Fenris leant back. The feathered pauldron was soft and smelled like the mage and Fenris leant back to use them to cushion his head. Anders' long fingers grasped his dick and Fenris' hitch of breath was drowned out by Sebastian's groan.

When he could crack his eyes open he saw Sebastian on his knees, having shed substantial proportions of his armor to the floor beside him. Anders' hot hand was still working his shaft, the delicate mix of pale skin, darkened skin, and whorls of lyrium. Fenris closed his eyes again. He did not care for Sebastian in such a manner, yet he felt his determination for privacy would have the Prince forced from the room.

Instead he was here, writhing in Anders' arms, trying to eke out every pleasure he could. Sebastian would see and understand that Anders was his - his alone - and if anyone tried to harm him, Fenris would make it the last thing they did in this world.

Anders' hand pulled back and Fenris' chased it - the heat and softness and calluses. Anders huffed a laugh against Fenris' ear. "You know why we're here," he said and Fenris tried to inch closer, or rub into the friction their bodies provided. He knew Anders wanted it. Yet he would wait?

"Sebastian is someone you should have willingly given this secret to, just as Hawke and Isabela. Yet each time you have given up your secret, powerless." Anders's hand tightened on Fenris' shaft, holding off on any pleasure except what Anders allowed. What he allowed for himself.

"You can take back that power," Anders continued. "It is your pride, dignity, and freedom."

Sebastian, who knew his part in this, leant forward. He promised he would not touch Fenris, but the shadow of his hand was caressing all of Fenris' body, charged with want and need.

" _Come for me, my love~,"_ Sebastian spoke, the  Starkhaven lilt on his tongue.

Fenris felt his body flood with energy, his lyrium brands glowing bright. Sebastian ran his tongue over his more-than-likely equally dry lips. Fenris curled into Anders body, protecting himself. But he refused. He would not give someone else this power over him. He was free.

He had earned his freedom.

Sebastian commanded again and Anders resumed the light, twitching movement of his fingers across Fenris' dick. Fenris snarled - saw red and stripes of color as he fought his own body.

Anders worried at his slack jaw, leaving a line wet with saliva.

" _Come for me, my love~._ " 

"No!" Fenris pulled himself away, struggling to his feet, not even bothering to pull up his trousers. 

"Fenris... Shh, it is just me. Anders," Anders said, calm and soothing. The mage was still fully clothed but Fenris' eyes snapped down to his hard groin.

"It worked. I have not--"

"No, nothing! Fenris, it's...fantastic!"

Sebastian chortled and handed Fenris his shirt. The elf struggled awkwardly into his pants before accepting the shirt graciously.

"Will you be needing of me again, Anders?" Sebastian asked. He struggled with the clips and belts on his armor, hands dumb and shaking.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"Then I shall return tomorrow. I do this for Fenris, though, not an Apostate Mage hiding in the slums."

"I realize this. Take your leave and speak of this to no one."

"Not a soul, Fenris. It shall remain in the eyes of the Maker."

Once Sebastian closed the door, Anders grunted and folded his arms. "It is easy to keep a secret when your best friends are little more than imaginary characters in a story book."

Fenris was still staring at his hands. The power there, he felt it now. Danarius had no claim to him and would not use this as the way to bring Fenris down.

 

 

Anders could not stay. The mage was needed elsewhere. 

He walked the mage to the door, fingers twined. They needed time to talk. Anders entrusted him with a kiss goodbye; fluttering, gentle things against Fenris' face. Promises to return.

Anders was warm against his body. Fenris drew himself up closer, feeling the feathers on Anders' pauldron touch his skin in places cloth did not cover. Anders hummed in approval and touched his hand to Fenris' arm.

"Apostate!"

Fenris felt the anger rise in him even before he knew the threat. He pulled Anders to him, arm around his waist, his lyrium branding aglow in the darkness.

"Fancy seeing you two...out," Hawke said. She folded her arms across her chest. She had neither of her weapons drawn but Knight-Captain Cullen had his sword raised in front of him.

Anders struggled free of Fenris' grip, but with some difficulty and Fenris insisted Anders stand behind him. "What is it you want, Hawke?" Anders asked.

"Nothing. We are just passing, on our way home, as you seem to be. _Right_ , Anders? Back to the slums?"

Fenris growled and he felt Anders squeeze his arm, just lightly, just enough to gain his attention.

"Anders is not leaving my mansion tonight," Fenris said. "You shall not take him!"

"I am spending the night with Fenris. I am not in anyone's way, neither have I done anything wrong." Anders was good at taking a lead and following it. He had no trouble lying to Hawke.

"You are an apostate mage, free only through Hawke's good will towards you as a friend," Cullen said. "And elf, you squat in property not your own. Hawke is generous with her friends."

"Friend?" Anders laughed. "I wish for no friendship. Yet if it is _Hawke's_ will that keeps me free, then I guess it is her I must thank." Anders gave an overly exaggerated bow in Hawke's direction and then tugged at Fenris' arm. "Good evening,  Serah Hawke. Knight-Captain."

Fenris let Anders lead, hearing Cullen rage about Anders' audacity as they retreated. But Hawke did keep the Templar at bay, silencing him with a few words that Fenris did not hear.

Fenris locked and barred his door that night.

He didn't expect Anders to turn on him and snap as soon as they were upstairs.

"Fenris! Maker, I am not a little girl. What was all that about?"

Fenris frowned. Anders was furious with him, it seemed. "The Knight-Captain threatened you."

"As he always does. It's hardly cause for alarm. Cullen is a puppy yapping at my heels. Annoying, but no great concern."

"I will not allow a Templar to have you," Fenris said. It was worth saying. Anders would not be taken. If a Templar dared touch Anders, he would make the Knight pay.

Anders sighed. His shoulders slumped and he pushed some of his hair back from where Fenris had pulled it free of its trappings. "I am very capable of handling myself. I don't need you...whisking me off my feet like that! As dashing as it was. I suppose. I've never been whisked off my feet before. No... No! You're not to do that again, understand?"

"I will do whatever is necessary to keep you safe, Mage."

Anders looked at him. Just stared; his lips parted, jaw slack. The mage's hands fisted into his coat, staff left at the door. The confession bowled him and when he came to, Fenris was still waiting, eyes wide, looking like a damn Mabari pup or something.

"And...And--" Anders had to look away. "You have to trust me; understand? This whole...poem thing. I need you to believe me and trust me...and also let me go if you need."

Fenris stepped forward and Anders drew in a quick breath, expecting something. When Fenris didn't lean forward, Anders did. He grabbed Fenris by the cotton of his loose shirt and pulled him closer, crashing their lips together. Anders' hands pressed up beneath Fenris' shirt as soon as Fenris reached out to hold him. The shirt was pulled over Fenris' head and flung aside and Anders pushed Fenris up against the back of the armchair. The high back of the chair pressed into Fenris' spine but a complaint was hard to form. He buried his hands in Anders' hair, holding him close, drawing Anders back to him with another enticing kiss each time the mage made to pull away.

"Damnable elf...!" Anders cursed. He raked his nails down Fenris' chest to the waistline of his leggings. "I am not a possession. Just as I am not your pet. I am not yours to place in a corner and use at your whim. I am a free man...as are you."

Fenris scoffed. "No, you are not my pet. But you are mine."

Anders stared at him for a moment before pressing forward again, his tongue sliding between Fenris' lips, exploring him with a hunger Fenris had never known before the mage. Anders did not object to what Fenris had said. Fenris claimed him and Anders...agreed. The mage pushed him towards the bed until they tumbled backwards, Anders pulling Fenris into his arms.

Anders smiled at him. The bright, beautifully open smile that had first drawn Fenris in, turning towards the mage like a flower towards the sun. Frustratingly smaller than the mage, Fenris found himself tucked under the mage's chin, head on his chest.

He had given up his control to the mage before. Let Anders bind his hands, allowed himself the freedom of being with the mage and let his body go. He could allow himself to be held.

The bed creaked as he shifted so that he could nestle his body against Anders', head still on Anders' chest and the mage's arms around him. Anders stroked his hair and touched the lines of lyrium on his back and Fenris felt...safe.

Safe. It was a novel idea.


	18. Chapter 18

"I heard something interesting..."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. He didn't touch the mage, playing along for the moment.

"Yes, from Varric. He heard that you were seeing someone. Isn't that interesting? A girl, whom seems a great bit exciting in the bed. Should I be jealous?"

Heat flared up his throat and across his cheeks and to the very points of his ears. How did the dwarf find out? Fenris knew it was not safe to speak in the open as he had. "That is...not accurate. I am seeing no one."

"Ohh... And here I thought that you were seeing me."

Fenris groaned. Was this a line of questioning designed to trick him? "Mage..."

Anders covered his mouth, hiding a laugh poorly. "You may ask me anything, Fenris. If you are ever...confused."

Confused. Fenris let out a derisive laugh. Confused would indicate he at least had some idea of what he was now supposed to do with the mage in his life. No, confused was too simple. Utterly and entirely lost was more accurate. He felt foolish.

"I confess...I have little idea of what I am supposed to do with you, Mage," he said. "You never refused my claim."

"No." Anders took Fenris' hand and backed away towards the bed, tugging the elf after him. Fenris followed easily. Anders tipped backwards and pulled Fenris on top of him. Fenris' quick reflexes kept him from landing on Anders, holding himself up on his knees instead. 

Fenris felt a shudder run down his spine. Anders' hair was messy, his lips flushed pink. _Beautiful_.

They had given themselves to each other. Certainly in a way Fenris had never known. Anders let Fenris claim him, would tell all if he could, would tell all of their--

Ice-cold dread seized Fenris. Love... It was the word he had held back. Too scared to leak the words. He pushed away, his arms shaky, and looked down at Anders. Anders' face was graced with a small, fragile smile and his hands were shaking.

The mage was scared, too.

"This is where a relationship progresses," Anders said, his voice small. "I have wanted this for a long time."

"Long time...?" Fenris repeated, ignoring how ridiculous he must sound.

"My thoughts were plagued by you. For three years I ached only for you. I thought you should never forgive me. That I had lost you and that I would lose you and--" Anders throat seized and Fenris watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

"I returned."

"And still I am scared you will run."

"I gave my word." 

"One's word is easily broken."

"Not mine," Fenris countered. He wrapped his body around the mage's. Fenris knew the feeling well; of heartache, of uselessness, hopelessness. He knew how hard it was to trust or have faith in another. He had tried before and had always held back. Anders? He had given all of himself to Anders.

Anders seemed to live in a dream state amongst his own feelings (his feelings, or Justice's thoughts?). Struggling day to day with his wants and Justice's demands. Anders fought to be with Fenris. Anders held him a long time; longer than Fenris truly felt comfortable with, but he allowed the mage all he needed. It calmed him and, most importantly, it silenced Justice.

"Did you know Varric is writing a new book? His Apostate mage and fiery warrior," Anders said and laughed against Fenris' chest.

"I believe I will like this one more than the one with the rogue involved in a bitter love triangle between elf and mage. It was a ridiculous, cliché experience."

"You read them!" Anders shouted and pounded his fist against Fenris' chest. A punishment the mage had obviously decided fair. "Why did Sebastian have what basically equates to porn?"

"I don't believe it was his, apparently he asked for books other than those specifically sanctioned by the Chantry. ...it was all they had."

Anders was laughing too hard. If he ever needed dirt on Sebastian, he had it now.

"Anders, this is unnecessary!"

"Then we differ on this matter," Anders answered with an undignified snort of laugher. He let himself stop and then slow and Fenris' smile quirked to the side.

"Still can't believe you've read it..." Anders said through teeth clenched, twisting lips trying not to grin.

Fenris slid away and Anders groaned with disappointment. Anders sat up, trying to straighten his hair as he watched Fenris, intent on his every movement. Fenris could feel his gaze like a hot mark against his flesh.

"You ask of me a relationship... You wish me your own?" Anders asked. "You asked if I...refute your claim. I don't. I am yours. For as long as possible."

"You speak of your time as limited," Fenris said. He pulled on his leather surcoat, fastening it secure across his breast. "I don't like to hear such things."

Anders rolled onto his stomach, one leg bent up, kicking at air. "I speak only truth. How long do any of us have? A storm is brewing and we will surely be caught in its winds."

Fenris huffed. "There have been many storms before. We have survived all. You have lived through more than most men. What could arrive on the horizon that should scare you so?"

Anders hummed, his long fingers carding through blonde hair, loosening knots and tangles. But he said nothing.

"You have become embroiled too far into your cause, Mage." Fenris knew this had to do with Justice, the mage rebellion, and the freedom Anders felt he needed. Fenris didn't know what to believe. He wanted Anders' freedom, he did, but at what cost? If the price was the freedom of all mages would he rally behind Anders if he needed? He had said he would keep the mage safe, but could he keep Anders safe from himself? The manor walls made a terrible prison. Damaged, decorative instead of hardwearing. Fenris had no way to hold his mage or to stop the oncoming storm.

None of them did. So Anders continued with work, often sitting at Fenris' desk until daybreak. If the storm was coming then Anders was surely at its head.

But Anders left time for him. His _lessons_ with Anders continued. 

His lessons with Sebastian...were slightly less frequent and slightly less enjoyable. He did not like sharing that part of himself with his friend and it made time with the Prince awkward else-wise. Sebastian never spoke of it, as was promised, but the events hung over them.

Sitting with Sebastian in the Chantry's main hall was awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. Others were eating around them, but the noise was low, comfortable; the sounds of people living, not the rowdy caroling of the Hanged Man. Sebastian sat beside Fenris and was easing him through his writing lessons.

He owed much to the Prince.

"You're doing well, Fenris. It just takes practice."

Fenris had been learning for years with the Prince's help but it was no easy process. Starting with barely anything, learning letters and sounds, his hands unfamiliar with a quill and the delicate curls of the words he was supposed to produce. Even after these years the skill seemed beyond him.

"Where is Anders this morning?" Sebastian asked, his voice barely above a whisper as though afraid of someone overhearing.

"The clinic," Fenris said and tried to keep the bite from his tone. He knew Sebastian did not approve of Anders and was skeptical of their relationship but not against it entirely; he was prepared to agree with something that made Fenris happy.

It did not entirely stop the Prince's complaints, though.

"Is he with patients? Or is he wasting time on less beneficial endeavors?" Sebastian asked.

Fenris set the quill down. A dark smudge of ink blackened the paper where his hand had slipped. "He is with clients," Fenris said. Though it likely was not true. Anders had spent less and less time with the clinic open and more time working on his...personal projects. But that was none of Sebastian's business, or Fenris' concern.

Except that it was becoming his concern. He worried for Anders. Every day his thoughts returned to the mage and what he was involving himself in; this crusade he could only ultimately lose. His own concerns were slowly seeping into the background of his life as his worries about the mage consumed him.

"Ser Fenris!"

They both turned to the young elven boy. His feet were bare and trousers torn around his ankles. He waved a note in his hand and almost barreled into them as he screeched to a halt. 

"This is for you, Ser. A letter from your sister."

Fenris frowned. He took the note and placed it on the table in front of him and Sebastian. The Prince read much faster than Fenris could.

"Your sister has arrived," Sebastian said, his voice unusually hollow.

Fenris turned back to the child, who waited on the spot, dancing from foot to foot. Fenris pulled out a couple coins and placed them in the child's hands. "Make sure she understands the note was delivered," he said. The child nodded, spun, and ran back out of the hall, not even pausing to listen to the Sister that snapped at him for his haste.

"She is staying at the Hanged Man and wishes to see you as soon as possible."

Fenris ran his finger over the corner of the note. His sister... He had understood the day was coming for her arrival but part of him had never truly believed she would come, thought that this was all a joke, or a way to trick him out of the coin he had sent. Anders had always reassured him, told him that he was being foolish, of course. And he had always believed Anders.

"She will be waiting for you tonight in the bar. Will you go?"

"Do I have a choice? I agreed to her visit; I can't just turn away now," Fenris answered. Fenris looked at the Prince. He wore an unusual expression. It must be hard; Sebastian had lost his entire family and now he was to help Fenris reunite with his at the Hanged Man.

"Do you wish to go alone?"

He rumpled the note and looked down to where his fingers curled into the paper. "I must say, I am...unsure. I have not been in such a situation before."

Sebastian's hand clapped on his shoulder. It was comforting. "If I should meet you outside the tavern at dusk, you can decide before you enter. If you are fine alone I can return to the Chantry."

"I wouldn't want to trouble," Fenris said.

"No trouble for you, my friend. You will always have my time when you need of it."

 

 

Anders was more forward with his help - pushy, even. He insisted on coming along but promised he would sit in the tavern quietly with a mug of ale, perhaps attempt to spend some time with the Prince. After all, they cared for the same grouchy elf.

They ate before leaving; a quiet, simple affair. Fenris too wound to really hold much conversation and Anders unsure of how to help with anything more than gentle touches and words. Even so, they seemed to work. Fenris needed the mage's reassurance and he protested nothing.

Dusk came too quickly, settling over Kirkwall in dusty sheets. Sebastian waited outside the Hanged Man just as he promised. His bow was drawn - they all knew the streets well enough - but he was happy to place it away on his back when Fenris and Anders came into view.

"Are you prepared, Fenris?" he asked.

That was the question, wasn't it? Fenris was not sure. He didn't think he could be sure in this situation. "We should go inside. My sister may believe I am not coming."

"We shall follow shortly. As not to scare her," Anders said and Fenris nodded. It was a sound idea.

But it meant Fenris was alone for those first steps.

The Hanged Man was its usual crowded self. The local barflies were almost permanent fixtures. Fenris knew most of the usuals that frequented the bar thanks to Donnic, who knew of almost every unsavory in town, it seemed. Their time together after the Guardsman's shifts had often been interrupted by bar fights.

At the back table a young elven woman stood. Fenris knew immediately. He remembered the red hair. Her eyes. Remembered her voice even before she spoke. He slid into the seat across from her, realizing that he was staring and yet not caring an ounce.

"Varania..." The name was out of his mouth, remembering all the times he had spoken the name before.

"Fenris, you came," she said. Her eyes were bright, but shifting around the tavern. Looking for trouble? He would not blame her. Living in Tevinter would change anyone.

"I remember you. We played in our Master's courtyard while mother worked. You called me--"

"Leto. That's your name."

Fenris frowned, his eyebrows drawing together hard. Leto... He remembered his mother calling his name. He remembered Varania teasing him. Memories of a time before; memories he had thought forgotten.

He looked up at his sister - his sister! It was still a dizzy thought - and found her gaze still darting around the room. Her fingers were pressed white into the tabletop, nails removing stripes of varnish.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked. "You seem...distracted."

"No. No, of course not."

When she looked over her shoulder cold dread shifted through Fenris. He was a warrior, a seasoned fighter, and trained to see deception at every turn. He knew this sort of unease. He shot to his feet, reaching for his sword. As Danarius came down the stairs beside their table, Fenris' hand slipped from the hilt of his sword, palms sweating.

"My little Fenris. Predictable as always."

"I'm sorry, Leto."

Fenris' voice scraped from his throat, "You led him here!"

"Now, now, Fenris. She did what any good Imperial citizen should."

Realization hit him. Fenris snarled. He had been led, easily tricked. "I never wanted these markings, Danarius. But I won't let you kill me to get them!"

Danarius laughed; a full, awful sound that Fenris knew all too well. "Oh, Fenris, how little you know, my pet."

Fenris felt pain stab through him. All these months, all the waiting and expectations--

From beside him he heard the snick of an arrow leaving its quiver and the taut creak of a bowstring. Anders' magic curled around him and the mage was at his side, warm and comforting, even in his anger. They were here for him. Anders, _a mage_ , was here for him. Danarius would not have him as long as they all drew breath.

"Is this your keeper now, my pet?" Danarius asked. Fenris saw how he looked straight at Anders, took in his shabby appearance, and then immediately wrote him off.

"Fenris belongs to no one!" Anders' voice reverberated with the sound of Justice. That caused Danarius to take a second look.

"You sound jealous. It's not surprising. The lad is rather _skilled_ , isn't he? Should we show your new master how we make you obey?"

Fenris' eyes widened. He knew it would come to this. This was what Anders had taken him in for; to break this training. But now, here, listening to Danarius' voice, Fenris wasn't so sure he could resist.

Danarius took another step forward, a sly grin over his aged face. Fenris felt Anders tense next to him.

"You understand, my pet. Submit." Danarius raised his hand, commanding the slave he once owned. _"Come for me, my love."_

Fenris felt his whole body go rigid. Straight as a plank. He grunted out a sound as he felt the white heat spread through his belly. No, he wouldn't! Not ever again.

He dropped to one knee, clutching himself in tight defense. But the urge was contained and his body resisted. 

The realization that he had lost his slave struck Danarius and the man took a hesitant step back. He barked the order again and Anders did not wait to hear more. His staff erupted with light and Danarius was thrown back against the wall. He had not expected Anders; he had misjudged him entirely. He would pay for the oversight.

The tavern burst into action. Danarius' guards surrounded the magister, protecting him from further attack. The barflies scattered, mugs and glasses broken against the floor, smashing to pieces Fenris didn't even feel beneath his feet as he stood. All he saw was Danarius. Danarius who was battling Anders, mage against mage.

A bolt from a familiar crossbow struck the chest of a guard and Fenris looked up to see Varric standing at the top of the stairs, Bianca drawn.

"Looks like you could use some help!" he called. A lopsided grin plastered itself on the dwarf's face and he kicked a guard down the stairs. The man tumbled, clearly not expecting the attack.

The hum of battle surrounded Fenris. It became natural; all thoughts of his sister, betrayal, and Danarius and his command flowed from his mind like the spilled beer dripping over the edge of the nearest tabletop. A guard dropped, an arrow through his neck, another sliding against the wall from a crossbow bolt through his stomach. Fenris jumped back, avoiding a blow from a long sword. The edge caught his side and red-hot pain flared through him. He could feel the sticky wetness of blood soaking his tunic. Fenris expected the comforting flow of healing magic but it never came.

Fenris reeled around and saw Danarius looming over Anders. Two guards grabbed Sebastian, his bow snapped in two on the ground before him.

"I do admire your strength," Danarius said and another bolt of magic forced a groan out of Anders. He was on the ground, his head bleeding, a pool of red beneath him. He was bleeding from more than one place, but his black coat made it difficult to see the damage.

Varric stepped up beside Fenris but he knew when to act and when to stay his hand. The guards had them surrounded; Sebastian's throat bleeding where the knife against it had pushed too close, and Anders rolling on the floor, groaning in pain.

"Possessed by a spirit of the Fade...yet not an Abomination. Very interesting. Yet not enough."

Fenris didn't know what to say. He couldn't save one without the other dying. If he made his move for Sebastian, Danarius would rip Anders apart in front of him, and he just...couldn't. He couldn't lose Anders like that.

"You see that fighting me is quite pointless, my Fenris. Should you continue this and lose your friends? Or will you make this easy on us all?"

"No!" Anders cried from the ground. He held his side and tried to sit and Fenris ached to help him. "You...you can have me. Take me instead."

"Anders!" Fenris snapped.

Danarius smirked. "And what makes you think I will not just take you both?"

Anders coughed and fresh blood spotted the ground in front of him. His arm bent unnaturally and he had to lean on his elbow to push himself up off the floor. "Because if we continue this fight, you will lose all of us to death. Would you not wish to take back a mage possessed by a Fade spirit? Perhaps learn my secret." He coughed again and pulled in a rattling breath. It sounded wet and wheezing. "I would tell you everything I know."

"You are a smart one. Perhaps Fenris chose his new master well, after all."

"Well? I give myself for Fenris' life and freedom." Anders asked.

Fenris wanted to protest. He would not let the mage be taken by this...demon. Anders may be possessed by a Fade spirit but Danarius was a truly disgraceful man. He had destroyed Fenris' life. But Anders' gaze slid to his for a moment and Fenris frowned. He knew that look. That sparkle in his mage's eyes.

"Leave them," Danarius said and gestured to Fenris and Varric. "And release our dear Prince." Danarius raised his staff and a white glow of energy dragged Anders to the floor, out cold.

And suddenly Fenris understood.

The room flashed bright and a burst of power knocked them backwards. Fenris caught himself on his feet, skidding backwards, Varric tumbling beside him. Justice had control of Anders' body, dragging the unconscious, bleeding mage to his feet, directing him like a puppet. Danarius shouted to his guards but it was all too little, too late. Sebastian slit the throat of one of the guards with the same knife that had been pressed to his neck and then stabbed the other, right in the side and into vital organs.

The last of the guards were disposed of with the quick efficiency of a well-honed team. Only Danarius remained. The magister stumbled back and fell to his knees.

"Please..."

"What you have done deserves no mercy," Justice boomed.

Fenris flinched as the blood splattered across Varric and himself. The floor coated in it as Danarius was literally ripped apart. Justice left nothing but blood, flesh and viscera strewn across the wood floor. The stains would never disappear, only fade.

"That's one hell of a mess to clean up," Varric said, wiping his hand down his face and smearing the blood on his skin.

Fenris ignored him. He put his arms around Anders as the mage fell, Justice receding back into his mind. Justice would realize how damaged Anders body had become in the fight. Fenris lowered Anders to the floor, wishing it was not amongst blood and gore but having not much choice.

"Sebastian--" Fenris pleaded, his voice breaking. "Sebastian, I need..."

"Here," Sebastian said. A healing potion was pushed into Fenris' hands and he pulled the cork with his teeth and spat it onto the floor.

The mage was unconscious but Fenris had little choice. He slowly trickled the potion into Anders mouth, hoping gravity would do the job and draw the liquid down. He hoped he did not drown the mage, though at this point with Anders' labored, wet breathing, Fenris doubted the potion could do more harm.

Anders gave a shuddering groan as his eyes fluttered open. Fenris smiled and touched his fingers to Anders' cheek. 

"Heal yourself if you have the energy," Fenris said.

Anders shifted in Fenris' arms and the blood smeared beneath him. Fenris had no idea who the blood had belonged to - the bar was soaked in it. The warm energy of Anders' healing magic curled around Fenris' hand where it stroked the mage's cheek. Fenris couldn't see most of the wounds but he knew Anders would concentrate his energy on the injuries that could cause the most issues, such as his head wound, or the nasty gash that had ripped a huge slice from Anders' coat.

"Your sister..." Anders croaked, his throat raw.

Fenris looked over his shoulder towards Varania, who sat shaking in the corner behind an upturned chair. She was covered in blood, rivulets running down her cheeks where tears sluiced away the gore. Fenris cared not a whit for her. She had betrayed him. Brought Danarius here, and for what?

"Go," Anders said and gave Fenris' hand a light push. Sebastian knelt at their side and carefully slid his arm around Anders' shoulders, taking more care with the mage than he ever had before.

"I shall ensure his health," Sebastian said and gestured towards Varania.

Fenris had to deal with her.

He wanted to wring her neck. Choke the life out of her. She would have sold him back to slavery. He rounded on Varania, looming over her and watched her curl into herself, hiding in the corner.

"Please don't-- You don't understand!" she pleaded.

"I understand you were willing to sell you own brother to slavery. What more do I not understand?" Fenris knelt down and his branding flared to life, an ethereal glow surrounding his body.

"I had no choice, Leto."

Fenris growled, a low rumble from deep within him. He was not that person anymore. _' Leto'_ was dead.

"He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a Magister." Varania shuffled, trying to lean forward towards Fenris. Trying to settle him.

"You would sell your own brother to slavery for what? To become a Magister? How can you expect me to forgive you?"

"You don't understand! You don't understand what I've had to go through. After Mother died... This was my only hope!"

Hope... Fenris snarled. What _hope_ had he been given? He had no use for hope. Slaves don't have hopes, dreams; they don't know a thing except slavery. "You are nothing to me. You would have seen me killed. Why should I spare you?"

"Fenris..." Anders' voice was so quiet, so pained. "Please wait!"

Fenris' shoulders slumped. He looked back towards Anders. The mage was leaning up in Sebastian's arms, holding his side. His hand was covered in blood; everything was covered in blood.

Anders had done this for him. Anders had freed him. Freed him from Danarius' hold and finally from his life as a slave. He owed Anders more than he could ever repay. Yet he didn't feel as though he was bound to the mage as he had been to Danarius. He was truly free. His debt to Anders was his own to bear and repay as he saw fit. Anders would expect nothing from him.

He turned back to Varania. She cowered, drawing back, pulling in her feet against her thighs.

"You...you said that you didn't ask for this. But that's not true. You wanted it. Competed for it. And when you won you used the boon to have Mother and I freed."

"Why are you telling me this? What could you hope to achieve?" Fenris asked.

"Freedom was no boon. I look on you now and think you received the better end of the bargain."

Fenris stood. He turned away and flicked his hand in a gesture towards the door. "Get out."

He was tired.

Varania stood and hurried out without a second look back at the brother she would have seen killed; all for the chance to become a Magister. If Fenris had secured her freedom then she did not appreciate the gift she had been given.

"Thank you," Anders whispered.

Fenris' lips twitched in a smile. Anders was thanking him. It was absurd. He knelt by Anders' side and brushed back the man's messy bangs. "I should be thanking you."

"It's not needed," Anders said.

"Of course you would say such a thing. ...I thought I wanted to know of my past. That it would give me some sense of...belonging. I was wrong. Magic has tainted that, too, and I am left with nothing to reclaim." Fenris saw Anders flinch. He did not blame Anders, he did not hate Anders for being a mage, yet magic had ruined everything in his life. It was hard to overcome the hatred. "I feel unclean. I...wanted...these markings. Like the magic has not only been etched into my skin, but has stained my soul."

"You are not alone, Fenris," Anders said. "You have friends. You have..." He could not complete the sentence but Fenris understood. He smiled at Anders and took the mage's hand in his own.

"We must take you back to the manor. You're still injured. Sebastian, will you help me?"

"Whenever you ask, my friend."

Both Sebastian and Varric assisted Fenris, never leaving Anders' side as they struggled back to Hightown. But they would not leave Anders, and nor would they leave Fenris.

 

 

"You don't have to stay here, you know," Aveline said. She leant against the broken table in the foyer, her hand always on the hilt of her sword. "You can settle. You can't keep squatting in this broken manor."

Fenris nodded by didn't hear. Where would he go? It sounded idiotic to buy a house. What would he do with it? Would he decorate with lace and choreograph dances in the halls? Ridiculous.

"I can only divert my guards for so long," Aveline continued.

"I appreciate your efforts," Fenris said. "I will endeavor to exist with less insult."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"I will take your advice in hand," Fenris said, but that was the last of it. He did not know how to live as a free man. He never would. He walked up the stairs; Aveline sighed and left, the door slamming behind her.

In the end, though, Aveline was right. He could not stay here. He had no reason to stay, but nor did he have reason to leave. Kirkwall was just another city in the expanse of Thedas. He had started a life here, with friends, with... Fenris stopped at the doorway, leaning against the frame. Anders was asleep in his bed, one hand curled near his face carefully. It had taken him a lot to heal himself and he was still covered in small scratches that had bled off and on throughout the night even though Fenris had cleaned and bandaged most.

Perhaps he had something to stay for.

The edge of the bed dipped where Fenris sat down, the frame creaking. It was enough to wake Anders. The man's eyes flickered open and he looked up at Fenris with a slight smile across his lips.

"Nice to see you are still here with me," Anders said.

"I was unaware that I was leaving."

Anders chuckled. "I suppose not. Yet I worried all the same."

Fenris ran his hands along the sheet by his thighs. Anders was still here with him, despite all that had happened. He had killed Danarius for him, ripped him apart piece by piece and spread him across the tavern. Fenris had seen many violent things in his life, and had taken no joy in watching, but he took a certain amount of pleasure from seeing Danarius killed in such a bloody way. He hoped the man suffered.

"I need to thank you. You...freed me from Danarius. You offered yourself in my place."

"It was just part of my pla\--"

"No," Fenris interrupted. "There was still risk involved. If it had gone wrong you would have given yourself to Danarius as a slave. Despite knowing how I suffered, despite knowing how he ruined my life, you still saved me."

Anders ran his thumb over his lip where it was still swollen, the skin broken. A trickle of magic wound down his thumb and Fenris saw the wound heal, swelling reduce and bruise fade to a faint grey under the skin.

"Fenris... I would gladly give myself to save you. Sacrificing myself for your freedom would please me greater than watching your return to slavery. I could not let that happen."

"You gave me the freedom to live. To choose. To be free of that man once and for all. I can never repay you."

"And I wouldn't want you to," Anders said. He reached up and looped his hand behind Fenris' neck, dragging him down to meet his lips.

Fenris sighed into the kiss. Tension flowed from his shoulders without any magic. It was though Anders himself was magic and Fenris was healed just by being near him. He ran his hand up Anders' bare chest and felt the man's breath hitch. Fenris smiled and it brought a laugh to Anders' lips.

"What is it you want, my love?" Anders asked. His hand curled at the back of Fenris' neck, stroking his thumb over the dark skin.

"I want you." A simple enough request. A deeper meaning.

Anders grinned and he pulled Fenris back down. His hands grabbed at the hem of Fenris' loose linen shirt and they parted just long enough for the garment to be lifted and pulled over Fenris' head, briefly catching on his ear. Fenris scowled but Anders just laughed and stroked his hand over the elf's ear. It sent a shiver down Fenris' spine. He hated that such a simple action could bring him to shaking but Anders exploited it mercilessly. He licked along the hinge of Fenris' jaw until he reached his earlobe. Anders sucked the lobe into his mouth, between his lips where he could worry against it with his teeth. Fenris shuddered again. His skin prickled as though he was cold and he pulled himself closer to Anders; closer to his skin and his warmth.

Anders' clever hands slid down his back and around his hips, tickling low on Fenris' abdomen. Fenris moved his hips just enough to allow Anders to loosen the laces and pull the front of Fenris' pants open. The mage grinned and Fenris smiled at him. Fenris admired his skill.

"Are you sure you are well enough for such...enthusiastic endeavors?" Fenris asked. He touched his hand to one of the bandages around Anders' chest.

Anders laughed again. "Fenris, if I ever turn down the opportunity to be with you then I must be very unwell. Then you can worry." He slipped his hand between laces and moved his fingers against Fenris' smallclothes. It was enough to send heat racing up Fenris' neck and rushing down to his loins. Yet, he would always be gentle with Anders. They had both suffered enough pain.

Fenris happily rolled beneath the mage when Anders pulled him. Another happy grin plastered itself over the mage's face as he leaned down, lips to Fenris' collarbones. Anders' hand rested at the small of the elf's back, just delving below the waistband, just enough to cause little shimmers of lust in Fenris. Anders' hand delver lower and Fenris lifted his hips, accommodating.

"Should I remove these?" Anders asked.

"If you don't I may tear them from my body," Fenris replied.

"Oh, well I do like a bit of tearing. It's very passionate. But these are such nice pants, it would seem a waste."

"Mage..." Fenris huffed.

"Patience, dear." Anders pressed another kiss to Fenris' skin, just above his heart. The sweet press of lips made Fenris' heart race, dancing in his chest.

Anders delved lower, past Fenris' ribs and down to his navel where once more a kiss was laid upon flesh. Anders let his hands wander until he could slide the pants from Fenris' rear. The laces at the front caught on his smallclothes, tugging at his erection and Fenris gasped as the pants were finally pulled free and stripped from him. The air around them was warm from the fire, yet felt cold against his skin.

Anders' hands were everywhere; stroking down his legs, tickling up his ribs and across his branding. Each move carefully executed to wring the best sounds from Fenris' lips. He did not disappoint. How could he keep the huffs and groans of pleasure to himself? Especially when they pleased Anders so.

Pale, long fingers tightened on Fenris' hips, squeezing gently, nails digging into flesh and leaving white marks behind. Fenris slapped at his hands - the mage was always teasing! - and Anders pulled them back, away from Fenris' skin. Anders had no shirt to strip, his chest bandaged where he had been injured, so he moved his hands to his trousers, loosened the laces and shucked them off, revealing the soft, pale skin Fenris had come to love. All of it - the hair, the muscles, the scars - he loved it all.

He loved Anders.

Fenris stared at the man. Took in the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the soft, fullness of his lips, the scruff that refused to be shaved off. The man he had chosen to be his. The man...he had given himself too willingly.

"Anders... I wish for you to..." The words sat uncomfortably in the back of his throat. They all sounded crass and none delivered what he meant to say.

The twinkle in the mage's eye was there and Fenris leant up, placing a kiss to Anders' cheek.

"Am I to think you want what I think you want?" Anders asked, annoyingly cryptic.

"I wish to give myself to you. Give my body...to you."

Anders grinned and Fenris could tangibly taste his happiness as their lips touched. Sunshine and mint and everything he loved about Anders.

"I will do nothing that makes you uncomfortable. Tell me, or squeeze my wrist, anything! I won't hurt you."

Fenris nodded. Before Anders he had little experience with sex. He certainly had no good experience of a man taking his body. Those thoughts were pushed aside and Fenris clung to Anders, squeezing him tight and close, feeling the length of the man's naked body against his.

If it was with Anders the experience would be better. Perfect. It would wash away the negative thoughts and painful memories. It was Anders. Perfectly broken Anders who loved him and had only shown him kindness and pleasure. If only he had known the man better in those early days.

Anders' traced a finger down Fenris' sternum, just light, and stopped below his navel. The mage smiled and placed a flat palm to Fenris' belly, pressing down just enough that it shot a wave of heat through him that went straight to his groin. Fenris squirmed, just a little but enough to wring a small huff of a laugh from his mage. Anders' hand wandered lower, moving softly through dark curls of hair and across sensitive skin. Fenris' head fell to the pillow when Anders' grasped him, long fingers around his lyrium-marked cock. He bit his lip to stop the cry. He had waited enough for Anders to touch him. His own hand shot down, grasped Anders', and they moved together, up and back down to the root. Anders explored, his free hand wandering; tracing across a nipple, soothing the inside of Fenris' thighs and up to the elf's ears, tugging at the ends playfully.

Too much more and Fenris would not last. Too electrified to have any stamina. Anders, as always, read him like a book. When Fenris' body seized and his hand made to pump quicker, Anders pulled away. Fenris growled and tried to pull the mage back.

"I believe you wished more from tonight?" Anders questioned. 

It took a moment, Fenris huffing in breath through gritted teeth, but he did nod. His body, his muscles, all unwound one by one until he sagged into the mattress, feeling heavy and unsatisfied, but eager. Eagerness. It was not something he had imagined he would ever feel in this situation.

Anders nipped at his jaw and it pulled Fenris back. He could look at his mage, focus on him, and not get lost in the sea of bad memories that surrounded his mind.

A burst of magic burned Fenris' brands and his muscles twitched in response. Anders hand was slicked with the substance he had come to know well. A soft, fresh smelling oil that most mage's learnt to conjure fairly early into adolescence. Anders stroked him with his well-oiled hand, sliding up Fenris' cock to the head, where oil met pearl drops of fluid. Fenris swallowed his gasp and his hips stuttered up into Anders' hand. It wasn't teasing, but Anders had certain intentions tonight. Fenris could call the mage's movements...methodical. Practiced.

He did not like to think of that, either.

He slid his hand up Anders' arm and gently removed the mage's hand from his cock, moving the long fingers lower. It was Anders turn to look reverent, his eyes wide and lips slightly apart when he sucked in a breath of air. The touch behind his balls was soft, careful and Fenris hated that the caution was necessary. But he couldn't handle rough, not the way Anders accepted him, as through clinging to each other was all that was keeping them from falling. He needed Anders' softness now.

The touch ran shivers down his spine and Fenris couldn't help but tense at the first slight intrusion. Anders was there, stroking his thigh with his other hand and his muscles slowly unwound again. It was strange, the press of Anders' finger inside of him. It had been some time since it was forced upon him.

Fenris gasped when Anders' finger slipped free and he felt instead two fingers press at him, pushing inside, dragging against his walls. Anders was not forceful, but nor was he timid. The mage placed a kiss to Fenris' stomach as he slid his fingers carefully in rhythm. 

Fenris was not entirely sure when it started to feel good. The awkwardness and burn replaced with a tingling that ran down to his toes. His legs dropped open wider for Anders and he curled his hand into the pillow behind his head. He was aware of the sweet words Anders spoke to him but not of their meaning, just quiet nothing's that reached his ears and soothed his fear. His breath hitched as Anders pushed deeper and a hot spark ran through his body. Had he not known better he would have suspected magic, but his branding lay dormant beneath his skin. The feeling again shot through him and Fenris heard the sheet in his hand rip.

Anders chuckled and there were more fleeting kisses against Fenris' skin; his stomach, hip, the inside of his thigh. It seemed Anders was determined to take him apart with just this, moving his fingers inside of Fenris, sparking waves of heat through his body until his toes curled. His cock, half hard, leaked against his hip and twitched as Anders pressed deep. Fenris' muscles flexed in his legs, drawing tight as his spine arched up. He gasped a small breath of air and weakly pushed at Anders, clawing at his hair.

"Enough\-- 's enough," Fenris said. He lifted his head from the pillow and saw the mage smiling at him, large and proud for having reduced Fenris to this lax body before him.

"You sure?" Anders whispered. He nipped at Fenris' thigh and shuffled forward to sit on his knees. Fenris reached up until their lips met, tongues tangling, Anders' hand carefully stroking back Fenris' sweaty hair. Fenris took a deep breath against Anders' lips, sharing the thick air between them. He nodded and Anders kissed him, a soft press of lips sweeter than any heated joining of mouths.

Another swell of magic pulled and pulsed in Fenris' veins and Anders leaned away from him. He could hear the slide of Anders' hand, covered in oil, on his own length. A sound Fenris was familiar with - sex was not new for them. But this...

His breath stilled in his chest as he felt the first press of Anders' cock against him. Again Anders soothed him through the anxiety, rubbing soft circles on his belly. Fenris could not watch; looking into Anders' eyes would be too much, too fast. He dropped back to the pillow and placed his arm over his eyes as he felt Anders' hitch his tensed legs higher against pale arms.

"I will not break, damnable mage!" Fenris huffed yet his body felt as though it was falling apart. Anders was holding him together, holding in the pieces.

All Fenris got in response was a soft laugh. Anders pressed forward, slow, letting Fenris' body adjust to each new inch. And when Anders was fully seated within Fenris' body, his dark legs were shaking against Anders' arms. He let his breath out in a long sigh and carefully moved, feeling the intrusion of Anders within him. Anders groaned and moved forward, resting his weight on his arm and hand. He stroked Fenris' ear with his free hand and took the hand Fenris had flung over his eyes. Anders brought their entwined hands to the other side of Fenris' head and squeezed. It forced Fenris to look at his mage, see the look in his eyes; the way his lips parted slightly and the color that rose up high on his cheeks. The mage was as taken as Fenris.

Anders pulled back and Fenris felt his cheeks flame at the ruined sound it dragged from his throat. It had been so long but the feeling of someone inside of him could not be forgotten. Yet this was Anders, his mage. He brought his free hand to Anders' face, stroking the stubbled cheek as Anders moved within him.

Each slide and thrust punched another wrecked sound from Fenris' mouth; little gasps and hitches of breath as Anders squeezed his hand. Fenris had to curl his body upwards until his muscles burned to meet Anders' jaw, biting at the stubble and taking the man's lips is a kiss. He fell back to the mattress, a silent moan bubbling in his chest.

"Fen... It feels--" 

"Yes," Fenris cut him off. He couldn't handle more words because a thousand of them seemed ready to burst from his chest. Words of love and devotion and everything he had been too scared to tell Anders before now.

He clung to Anders as the man rocked into him, each drag backwards curling his toes and made him dig his fingers into Anders' shoulders, leaving white indentations in the skin. Anders was rhythmic, steady, focused solely on Fenris and no gain of his own and when he reached down to take Fenris' length in hand, the elf couldn't help but whine, arching his spine and thrusting his hips up.

It was too hard. His body shook and all he could manage was to cling to Anders, letting the man take him, bring him to his end that rushed towards him like a river. His body acted without him, canting up into Anders' hand and pushing back, heedless to any thoughts that might stop him. All that mattered was the heat, the want and lust and everything Anders gave him.

Fenris grabbed Anders' hand with a growl as he came, their joined hands around his dick; joined hands covered in his come. All noise seemed to disappear, overcome by the rushing sound of his blood in his ears. The lyrium burned within his flesh, humming through his veins, everything in him reaching for Anders. It was when Anders clung to him, groaning against dark skin, movements stilling that Fenris brought him arms around the mage. They lay there together, sweaty and sticky and breathing hard; skin flushed and bodies aching and tired.

"I love you, Fenris. I love you so," Anders said, muttering his words into Fenris' skin, peppered with kisses and soft nips at dark skin.

Fenris smiled softly and stroked his fingers through Anders' golden hair.

"You do not have to tell me, I know how you feel, Fen. I know." 

Fenris pulled in a shuddering breath. He pushed Anders away from him so that he could see the man's eyes. "I am yours, Anders. That is all you need to know."

 

 

The moment he woke, Fenris knew Anders was gone.

It came as no surprise. Yet it still hurt, a deep ache that curled in his chest, drowning him as it pulled him under. He had always known Anders would leave and their time together was finite. The mage seemed ready to die and...well, Fenris did not want that. Not now.

He started his day like any other, bathing and dressing, donning armor and sword and heading to the Keep to see Aveline. Perhaps it was time to speak of settling, perhaps joining the guard. What else was he to do? At one time he may have held wild fantasies of having a home with his sister - his sister, the _mage_ \- but all that had too been shattered. He was alone, but alone as a free man.

He could go and do whatever it was he wanted.

Except he _wanted_ Anders. The mage had so entwined himself around Fenris' heart he thought of little else. Perhaps he had never envisioned a future with Anders but that did not mean he did not care for one. Fenris stopped and  leaned up against the wall and, like a flood, the things he had never imagined came into his mind. Having a home, perhaps a...child. Waking each day with Anders nestled in his arms. All the things a slave never dared to dream. All the things a mage never dared to hope for.

Fenris looked up and the silence descended upon him. A quiet stillness that he had never sensed in the streets of Kirkwall. He barely noted the pinpoint of light in the distance over the Chantry before it happened.

The explosion rocked Fenris from his feet and he automatically covered his head with his arms as the cloud of dust swept over him. The silence was replaced by screaming, people frantic around him. He shook the dust from his hair and looked up to the Chantry - where there was nothing left of the Chantry. He gaped, aware of how silly he must look sprawled on the ground, covered in dust, staring at the ruins of the Chantry. Yet a quick look around saw much the same thing on the faces of everyone around him. Pure shock and awe, not quite comprehending what they saw.

Fenris dragged himself up and pulled his sword from under the debris that had tumbled free of the wall behind him, perilously close to where Fenris had been laying. Just a few feet and he would have been crushed under stone.

The Chantry lay in ruins and Fenris thought immediately of Sebastian. The man spent near all his time within the Chantry walls.

How could Anders have done this?

There was little other explanation. Who else would destroy the Chantry in a show of such rebellion? Fenris had known Anders had been working on something huge, yet he had never asked. Never stopped the man or attempted to stay his hand. Would it have mattered if he had?

Fenris raced up the stairs that led to the Keep's courtyard, ignoring the Templars that no doubt thought he was a mage, the way the lyrium burned from his skin. He would find Anders.

Before someone else did.

He did not have to look far. Anders was surrounded - Hawke, Cullen, and a group of Templars. Yet Anders did nothing. He sat on a crate, facing away from them all, staring at the stone of the Keep's walls.

"Ah, Fenris, how did I know you would be hot on his heels. Do you see what he has done?" Hawke folded her arms, a knife clasped in her hand. "I suppose it is fair you take his life. I shall at least grant him that kindness."

"Kindness?" Fenris huffed, yet he took the opening when he could. The guards parted for him and allowed him to pass to Anders' side. He knelt slowly beside the man and when he touched Anders' arm the mage flinched but did not pull away. "Anders...what have you done?"

"If you had known what I was to do, you would have tried to stop me. I have done what needed to be done," he answered in a quiet voice.

"There must have been another way--"

"Meredith had written to Val Royeaux for the Right of Annulment. She planned to have every mage made Tranquil or killed. There was no other way."

"And every mage may die trying to escape."

"Let them die free rather than made Tranquil!" Anders barked. "You should understand."

Fenris tightened his hand on Anders' arm before sliding his palm down to meet the mage's hand. He entwined their fingers and Anders shot him a confused look, eyes darting and lips tight.

"Hawke is right," Anders said. "I would rather my death be at your hand. So that I may see your face one last time."

"I will not allow you to make a martyr of yourself. There are better ways of rebelling."

"Hurry up, Fenris! If you don't do it, I will," Hawke yelled.

Fenris shot her a withering look and she did back down, turning away to speak with Cullen as though that had been her intention.

"You don't need to do this for me, Fen. You will be a hunted man again. Here you could be free. You would be heralded as a hero."

"Is it not my choice as a free man to do with my life as I will? I wish to spend my life with you, Anders. I should cut out my own heart to keep you safe because losing you would tear it from me. And if my life should end minutes from now then it would be a life well lived."

Anders' breath hitched in his throat and he hung his head. Still Fenris saw the tear that dripped from his cheek and onto their joined hands. Fenris wasn't sure how they would escape but he would try and that was important. He needed Anders to try.

"Perhaps it is hard to live with such guilt... The hardest thing you can do now is live. Yet I will step onto this road with you if you allow me." He squeezed Anders' hand tight.

More tears slipped from Anders' face, dripping onto Fenris' skin. His lyrium branding hummed with his proximity to Anders, flaring with each drop of salt water from the mage's eyes. Anders leaked residual magic from every pore. What he had done was on a scale Fenris had not believed possible.

He saw it then, a small nod and Anders' eyes looking towards him fleetingly. Fenris took it. He hauled Anders to his feet and pushed the mage behind him as he held up his sword.

"Fenris... You can't be serious! You're surrounded!" Hawke said and Cullen laughed beside her.

"Hawke. If there is any good left in you, any guilt that claws at your heart, then you will let us pass."

It gave her pause. She looked Fenris up and down but her gaze settled on Anders behind him. "You shall not leave with the Apostate."

"Then I do not leave," Fenris said. Anders had no staff, yet he held forward his hand and a burst of electricity left his fingers. It leapt between the Templars and Fenris could smell the burning flesh. He pushed forward, drawing his sword on Cullen, knocking the man back and to the ground. Hawke yelled - screamed at him! - and leapt. Realization struck Fenris. He grinned and ignored Hawke, settling the point of his sword against Cullen's throat.

"No, wait!" Hawke yelled. She paused and her daggers slipped from her hands, clattering on the stones at her feet. She held up her hand to the remaining Templars. She was Champion, they acted on her behalf and at her word.

"Let me up," Cullen growled but it ended in a squeak as Fenris pressed the point of his blade closer.

All the times Fenris had seen Cullen and Hawke and he had never realized their attachment. Now he would use it to his advantage. "Would you deny me love, Hawke? When you hold it so close?" Fenris asked. "I shall trade you. I do not ask for our eternal freedom, just that you let us pass."

Hawke crinkled her nose, caught between her wants. She lowered her head and flicked her hand at her guards. They moved back away from Anders and Fenris slowly drew back his blade. Anders rushed to Fenris, ignoring the presence of the Templars altogether in his eagerness to be at Fenris' side.

As he and Anders left, it was Hawke who called Fenris' name.

"You were a good friend," she said.

"You were not," Fenris replied. He took Anders' hand and they ran.


	19. Epilogue

In the end Anders had to fight both Templar and mage alike. The mages resorted to blood magic, calling upon beasts from the shadows and turning into sick abominations of flesh right before his eyes. He had hoped that they would remain true, yet time and time again he was let down. When pushed against the wall, almost every mage turned. Anders would have never believed it had he not seen it happen.

The whole time Fenris kept his hand firm around Anders'. They only parted when they encountered a fight that they could not break free from. Fenris had no intention of setting this city free or rescuing the mages that would turn to the blood magic he hated so. Anders did not blame him at all. He let himself be pulled along behind Fenris, the warmth of the warrior's hand seeping right into his cold veins.

Kirkwall was in ruins. They would not stay for the aftermath.

Fenris wrinkled his nose and wiped the blood from his cheek as the abomination in front of him fell. The mage across the dock had summoned a great pride demon and Fenris...laughed at it. Honest laughter. For it had nothing he wanted now. He had all he wanted. Fenris pulled Anders to him and buried a hand into his hair. Their lips touched and Anders gasped. Fenris was warm, so warm, like electricity running up his skin. He wound his arms behind Fenris' neck, holding himself close. He could feel the tears leaving tracks on his cheeks. Fenris just held him, a soothing hand on his back, brushing soft kisses to Anders' cheeks.

"You gonna stand there all day?" came a cry from above them.

Fenris turned but held Anders close, protecting him. Yet it was Isabela above them, leaning over the railings of a ship. Beside her Merrill was waving at them.

Anders looked at Fenris. Had he had something to do with this? Or was destiny truly giving him a pass.

"Coming aboard?" Isabela asked. "This city looks like it's gone to the dogs."

"Should we be welcome?" Fenris called back and guilt swelled in Anders' stomach.

"I'm not standing around here for my health, that's for sure," Isabela answered.

Merrill met them when they came aboard, throwing her arms around Anders and holding him tight. Anders took a moment but he finally settled his arms around her and smiled.

"I believe we should probably cast off, before my sister gets any ideas about following us," Bethany said. She smiled at Fenris and waggled her fingers in a small wave at him.

"Quite the crew you have gathered," Fenris said.

"Yes well, it seems we all had a common goal to get the fuck out of this city. So let us go then, hmm?"

The gangplank was hauled aboard, the ropes pulled. Sailors swung around them, readying the ship and it pushed off into the bay. The great chain lay beneath the surface. The city was in shambles. There was no time to stop those who wished to leave. Many other boats pushed off into the waves, families clinging together, children screaming. Anders could hear cries from below deck. He and Fenris were not the only refugees Isabela had taken on.

"You know what I have done...?" Anders asked. He felt Fenris' hand tighten on his shoulder.

Bethany nodded. "We know. Not quite how I would have gone about it, Anders, yet..." She looked back over her shoulder to Kirkwall. "My sister and I came here to escape the Blight. Now she must escape a hole of her own making."

"We knew about the Right of Annulment," Merrill said. "Everyone knew. The mages would have rallied behind us if we had led them."

Anders bit at his lip. How could they all forgive him so easily? He had taken all those lives and for what? To have the mages turn to the blood magic he had promised they would not? 

"I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to seek justice for the mages. My thoughts...tainted Justice. My anger. But what I have done is to serve all mages; I will make everyone see that the Circle is no answer," he said. "I thank you all...for my life, and for putting your lives in danger." 

He could not imagine how this would shake Thedas. He had no way of telling. He had put Thedas onto the path of destruction or had the world turned for the mages finally? All he knew was that he was now a fugitive, and he would bring these people with him. "I am so sorry," he said finally.

"We know," Bethany answered She looked so much like Hawke but the softness and kindness remained. When she smiled at him, Anders felt lighter.

Justice still cried in his head, a constant stream of thoughts and feelings. Anders wasn't entirely sure where he ended and Justice began. He was not sure it mattered anymore. His thoughts had long ago become Justice's thoughts. The lust for vengeance strong and sickening.

Yet there was one thing he and Justice would never agree on. He felt Fenris' arms slip around his waist and the elf pressed up behind him, holding him close.

"Justice would have had me end your life," Anders said. "You were a distraction he could not afford. But I could not. It will forever be the greatest thing we differ upon."

"Then I am glad you should remain yourself," Fenris said and placed a kiss to the back of Anders' neck. "I am unsure of the path we now tread but I walk it with you, my mage. And that is all that matters."

 

 

“There is no greater devotion than to lay one's life at the Maker's feet. 

There is no better death than to take the blow for another.” ― Grand Cleric Elthina

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. Please feel free to leave a review or con-crit - both are eagerly accepted! Flames are not. I'm sure people know the difference. ヾ( ◕∀◕)ノ♫
> 
> It's been a ride.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](http://emotionalmorphine.tumblr.com).


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